UNIV 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS 


^j  /I  i 


**y  «/' 


f      I* 


ZlLIA    DE    MOXCJADA    AND    HER    FATHER. 


WAVERLEY    NOVELS, 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


FIRST    SERIES. 


THE   HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 

1  HE  Two  DROVERS. 
THE  SURGEON'S   DAUGHTER,  ETC. 


.Jfrom  %  Jtssi  Qtbi&tb  (Sbiiioir, 

CONTAINING    THE    AUTHOR'S    FINAL    CORRECTIONS,    NOTES,    ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER    &    COATES, 

No.  822,  CHESTNUT  STREET. 


STACK  ANNEX 


5317 


CAXTON    PRESS    Of 
BHKRMAN     &     CO.,    PHILADELPHIA. 


, 
INTRODUCTION  (f/^   ^J 

TO 

CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CAIVOJVGATE. 


THE  preceding  volume  of  this  Collection  concluded 
the  last  of  the  pieces  originally  published  under  the 
noniiis  umbra  of  The  Author  of  Waverley  ;  and  the 
circumstances  which  rendered  it  impossible  for  the  writer 
to  continue  longer  in  the  possession  of  his  incognito, 
were  communicated  in  1827,  in  the  Introduction  to  the 
first  series  of  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate, — consisting 
(besides  a  biographical  sketch  of  the  imaginary  chron- 
icler) of  three  tales,  entitled  "  The  Highland  Widow," 
"  The  Two  Drovers,"  and  "  The  Surgeon's  Daughter  r' 
In  the  present  volume  the  two  first  named  of  these 
pieces  are  included,  together  with  three  detached  stories, 
which  appeared  the  year  after  in  the  elegant  compilation 
called  the  "  Keepsake."  The  "  Surgeon's  Daughter  " 
it  L  thought  better  to  defer  until  a  succeeding  volume,'31 
than  to 

"  Begin  and  break  off  in  the  middle.'* 

I  have,  perhaps,  said  enough  on  former  occasions  of 
the  misfortunes  which  led  to  the  dropping  of  that  mask 
under  which  I  had,  for  a  long  series  of  years,  enjoyed  so 
large  a  portion  of  public  favour.  Through  the  success 
of  those  literary  efforts,  I  had  been  enabled  to  indulge 
most  of  the  tastes,  which  a  retired  person  of  my  station 
might  be  supposed  to  entertain.  In  the  pen  of  this 
nameless  romancer,  I  seemed  to  possess  something  like 


*  In  this  edition,  the  Stories  from  the  "  Keepsake''  with  the  ''  Surgeon'! 
D?ughler"  are  included  in  the  next  volume.-- /Iwte/i'can  ed. 


IV  INTRODUCTION. 

the  secret  loimtain  of  coined  gold  and  pearls  vouchsafed 
to  the  traveller  of  the  Eastern  Tale  ;  and  no  doubt  be- 
lieved that  1  might  venture,  without  silly  imprudence,  to 
extend  my  personal  expenditure  considerably  beyond 
what  I  should  have  thought  of,  had  my  means  been 
limited  to  the  competence  which  I  derived  from  in- 
heritance, with  the  moderate  income  of  a  professional 
situation.  I  bought,  and  built,  and  planted,  and  was 
considered  by  myself,  as  by  the  rest  of  the  world,  in 
the  safe  possession  of  an  easy  fortune.  My  riches,  how- 
ever, like  the  other  riches  of  this  world,  were  liable 
to  accidents,  under  which  they  were  ultimately  destined 
to  make  unto  themselves  wings  and  fly  away.  The  year 
1825,  so  disastrous  to  many  branches  of  industry  and 
commerce,  did  not  spare  the  market  of  literature  ;  and 
ihe  sudden  ruin  that  fell  on  so  many  of  the  booksellers, 
could  scarcely  have  been  expected  to  leave  unscathed 
one,  whose  career  had  of  necessity  connected  him  deeply 
and  extensively  with  the  pecuniary  transactions  of  that 
profession.  In  a  word,  almost  without  one  note  of  pre- 
monition, I  found  myself  involved  in  the  sweeping  catas- 
trophe of  the  unhappy  time,  and  called  on  to  meet  the 
demands  of  creditors  upon  commercial  establishments 
with  which  my  fortunes  had  long  been  bound  up,  to  the 
extent  of  no  less  a  sum  than  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  pounds. 

The  author  having,  however  rashly,  committed  his 
pledges  thus  largely  to  the  hazards  of  trading  companies, 
it  behoved  him,  of  course,  to  abide  the  consequences  of 
his  conduct,  and,  with  whatever  feelings,  he  surrendered 
on  the  instant  every  shred  of  property  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  call  his  own.  It  became  vested  'n 
the  hands  of  gentlemen,  whose  integrity,  prudence,  and 
intelligence,  were  combined  with  all  possible  liberality 
and  kindness  of  disposition,  and  who  readily  afforded 
every  assistance  towards  the  execution  of  plans,  in  the 
success  of  which  the  author  contemplated  the  possibility 
of  hjs  ultimate  extrication,  and  which  were  of  such  a 
nature,  that  had  assistance  of  this  sort  been  withheld,  he 


INTRODUCTION.  V 

could  have  had  httle  prospect  of  carrying  them  into  effect. 
Among  other  resources  which  occurred,  was  the  project 
of  that  complete  and  corrected  edition  of  his  Novels  and 
Romances,  (whole  real  parentage  had  of  necessity  heen 
disclosed  at  the  moment  of  the  commercial  convulsions 
alluded  to,)  which  has  now  advanced  with  unprecedented 
favour  nearly  to  its  close  ;  but  as  he  purposed  also  to 
continue,  for  the  behoof  of  those  to  whom  he  was  in- 
debted, the  exercise  of  his  pen  in  the  same  path  of  lite- 
rature, so  long  as  the  taste  of  his  countrymen  should 
seem  to  approve  of  his  efforts,  it  appeared  to  him  that  it 
would  have  been  an  idle  piece  of  affectation  to  attempt 
getting  up  a  new  incognito,  after  his  original  visor  had 
been  thus  dashed  from  his  brow.  Hence  the  personal 
narrative  prefixed  to  the  first  work  of  fiction  which  he 
put  forth  after  the  paternity  of  the  "  Waverley  Novels" 
had  come  to  be  publicly  ascertained  :  and,  though  many 
of  the  particulars  originally  avowed  in  that  Notice  have 
been  unavoidably  adverted  to  in  the  prefaces  and  notes  to 
some  of  the  preceding  volumes  of  the  present  collection, 
it  is  now  reprinted  as  it  stood  at  the  time,  because  some 
interest  is  generally  attached  to  a  coin  or  medal  struck  or 
a  special  occasion,  as  expressing,  perhaps,  more  faithfully 
than  the  same  artist  could  have  afterwards  conveyed,  the 
feelings  of  the  moment  that  gave  it  birth.  The  Intro- 
duction to  the  first  series  of  Chronicles  of  the  Canon- 
gale  ran,  then,  in  these  words  : 

VOL. 


INTRODUCTION 


ALL  who  are  acquainted  with  the  early  history  of  the 
Italian  stage  are  aware,  that  Arlechino  is  not,  in  his  orig- 
inal conception,  a  mere  worker  of  marvels  with  his  wood- 
en sword,  a  jumper  in  and  out  of -windows,  as  upon  our 
theatre,  but,  as  his  party-coloured  jacket  implies,  a  buf- 
foon or  clown,  whose  mouth,  far  from  being  eternally 
closed  as  amongst  us,  is  filled,  like  that  of  Touchstone, 
with  quips,  and  cranks,  and  witty  devices,  very  often  de- 
livered extempore.  It  is  not  easy  to  trace  how  he  became 
possessed  of  his  black  vizard,  which  was  anciently  made 
in  the  resemblance  of  the  face  of  a  cat ;  but  it  seems  that 
the  mask  was  essential  to  the  performance  of  the  character, 
as  will  appear  from  the  following  theatrical  anecdote  : — 

An  actor  on  the  Italian  stage  permitted  at  the  Foire  du 
St.  Germain,  in  Paris,  was  renowned  for  the  wild,  ven- 
turous, and  extravagant  wit,  the  brilliant  sallies  and  fortu- 
nate repartees,  with  which  he  prodigally  seasoned  the 
character  of  the  party-coloured  jester.  Some  critics, 
whose  good-will  towards  a  favourite  performer  was  strong- 
er than  their  judgment,  took  occasion  to  remonstrate  with 
the  successful  actor  on  the  subject  of  the  grotesque 
vizard.  They  went  vvilily  to  their  purpose,  observing 
that  his  classical  and  attic  wit,  his  delicate  vein  of  humour, 
his  happy  turn  for  dialogue,  were  rendered  burlesque  and 
ludicrous  by  this  unmeaning  and  bizarre  disguise,  and 
that  those  attributes  would  become  far  more  impressive, 
if  aided  by  the  spirit  of  his  eye  and  the  expression  of  his 
natural  features.  The  actor's  vanity  was  easily  so  far 
engaged  as  to  induce  him  to  make  the  experiment.  He 
played  Harlequin  barefaced,  but  was  considered  on  alj 
hands  as  having  made  a  total  failure.  He  had  lost  the 


fill  INTRODUCTION. 

audacity  which  a  sense  of  incognito  bestowed,  and  with  i( 
all  the  reckless  play  of  raillery  which  gave  vivacity  to  his 
original  acting.  He  cursed  his  advisers,  and  resumed  his 
grotesque  vizard  ;  but,  it  is  said,  without  ever  being  able 
to  regain  the  careless  and  successful  levity  which  the 
consciousness  of  the  disguise  had  formerly  bestowed. 

Perhaps  the  Author  of  Waverley  is  now  about  to  incur 
a  risk  of  the  same  kind,  and  endanger  his  popularity  by 
having  laid  aside  his  incognito.  It  is  certainly  not  a  vol- 
untary experiment,  like  that  of  Harlequin  ;  for  it  was  my 
original  intention  never  to  have  avowed  these  works  dur- 
ing my  lifetime,  and  the  original  manuscripts  were  careful- 
ly preserved,  (though  by  the  care  of  others  rather  than 
mine,)  with  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  necessary 
evidence  of  the  truth  when  the  period  of  announcing  il 
should  arrive.1  But  the  affairs  of  my  publishers  having 
unfortunately  passed  into  a  management  different  from 
their  own,  I  had  no  right  any  longer  to  rely  upon  secrecy 
in  that  quarter  ;  and  thus  my  mask,  like  my  Aunt  Dinah's 
in  Tristram  Shandy,  having  begun  to  wax  a  little  thread- 
bare about  the  chin,  it  became  time  to  lay  it  aside  with  a 
good  grace,  unless  I  desired  it  should  fall  in  pieces  from 
my  face,  which  was  now  become  likely. 

Yet  I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  selecting  the 
time  and  place  in  which  the  disclosure  was  finally  made  ; 
nor  was  there  any  concert  betwixt  my  learned  and  re- 
spected friend  Lord  MEADOWBANK  and  myself  upon  that 
occasion.  It  was,  as  the  reader  is  probably  aware,  upon 
the  23d  February  last,  at  a  public  meeting,  called  for 
establishing  a  professional  Theatrical  Fund  in  Edinburgh, 
that  the  communication  took  place.  Just  before  we  sat 
down  to  table,  Lord  MEADOWBANKS  asked  me  privately, 
whether  I  was  still  anxious  to  preserve  my  incognito  on  the 
subject  of  what  were  called  the  Waverley  Novels  ?  I  did 
not  immediately  see  the  purpose  of  his  Lordship's  question, 
although  1  certainly  might  have  been  led  to  infer  it,  and  re- 
plied, that  the  secret  had  now  of  necessity  become  known 
to  so  many  people  that  I  was  indifferent  on  the  subject. 
MEADOWBANK  was  thus  induced,  while  doing  me  the 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

honour  of  proposing  my  health  to  the  meeting,  to 
say  something  on  the  subject  of  these  Novels,  so  strongly 
connecting  them  with  me  as  the  author,  that,  by  remain- 
ing silent,  I  must  have  stood  convicted,  either  of  the 
actual  paternity,  or  of  the  still  greater  crime  of  being 
supposed  willing  to  receive  indirectly  praise  to  which  I 
had  no  just  title.  I  thus  found  myself  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  placed  in  the  confessional,  and  had  only 
time  to  recollect  that  I  had  been  guided  thither  by  a  most 
friendly  hand,  and  could  not,  perhaps,  find  a  better  public 
opportunity  to  lay  down  a  disguise,  which  began  to  re- 
semble that  of  a  detected  masquerader. 

I  had  therefore  the  task  of  avowing  myself,  to  the  nu- 
merous and  respectable  company  assembled,  as  the  sole 
and  unaided  author  of  these  Novels  of  Waverley,  the 
paternity  of  which  was  likely  at  one  time  to  have  formed 
a  controversy  of  some  celebrity,  for  the  ingenuity  with 
which  some  instructors  of  the  public  gave  their  assurance 
on  the  subject,  was  extremely  persevering.  I  now  think  it 
further  necessary  to  say,  that  while  I  take  on  myself  all  the 
merits  and  demerits  attending  these  compositions,  I  am 
bound  to  acknowledge  with  gratitude,  hints  of  subjects  and 
legends  which  I  have  received  from  various  quarters,  and 
have  occasionally  used  as  a  foundation  of  my  fictitious 
compositions,  or  woven  up  with  them  in  the  shape  of 
episodes.  I  am  bound,  in  particular,  to  acknowledge  the 
unremitting  kindness  of  Mr.  Joseph  Train,  supervisor  of 
excise  at  Dumfries,  to  whose  unwearied  industry  I  have 
been  indebted  for  many  curious  traditions,  and  points  of  an- 
tiquarian interest.  It  was  Mr.  Train  who  brought  to  my 
recollection  the  history  of  Old  Mortality,  although  I  my- 
self had  had  a  personal  interview  with  that  celebrated  wan- 
derer so  far  back  as  about  1792,  when  I  found  him  on 
his  usual  task.  He  was  then  engaged  in  repairing  the 
gravestones  of  the  Covenanters  who  had  died  while  im- 
prisoned in  the  Castle  of  Dunnottar,  to  which  many  of 
them  were  committed  prisoners  at  the  period  of  Argyle's 
rising  :  their  place  of  confinement  is  still  called  the 
Whigs'  Vault.  Mr.  Train,  however,  procured  for  me  far 
more  extensive  information  concerning  this  singular  person, 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

whose  name  was  Patterson,  than  I  had  been  able  to  acquire 
during  my  own  short  conversation  with  him.3  He  was  (as  I 
ihink  1  have  somewhere  already  stated,)  a  native  of  the 
parish  of  Closeburn,  in  Dumfries-shire,  and  it  is  believed 
that  domestic  affliction,  as  well  as  devotional  feeling,  induced 
him  to  commence  the  wandering  mode  of  life,  which  he 
pursued  for  a  very  long  period.  It  is  more  than  twenty 
years  since  Robert  Patterson's  death,  which  took  place 
on  the  high  road  near  Lockerby,  where  he  was  found 
exhausted  and  expiring.  The  white  pony,  the  compan- 
ion of  his  pilgrimage,  was  standing  by  the  side  of  its 
dying  master  ;  the  whole  furnishing  a  scene  not  unfitted 
for  the  pencil.  These  particulars  I  had  from  Mr.  Train. 

Another  debt,  which  I  pay  most  willingly,  I  owe  to 
an  unknown  correspondent  (a  lady),4  who  favoured  me 
with  the  history  of  the  upright  and  high-principled  female, 
whom,  in  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,  I  have  termed 
Jeanie  Deans.  The  circumstance  of  her  refusing  to  save 
her  sister's  life  by  an  act  of  perjury,  and  undertaking  a 
pilgrimage  to  London  to  obtain  her  pardon,  are  both  re- 
presented as  true  by  my  fair  and  obliging  correspondent ; 
and  they  led  me  to  consider  the  possibility  of  rendering  a 
fictitious  personage  interesting  by  mere  dignity  of  mind 
and  rectitude  of  principle,  assisted  by  unpretending  good 
sense  and  temper,  without  any  of  the  beauty,  grace,  tal- 
ent, accomplishment,  and  wit,  to  which  a  heroine  of  ro- 
mance is  supposed  to  have  a  prescriptive  right.  If  the 
portrait  was  received  with  interest  by  the  public,  I  am 
conscious  how  much  it  was  owing  to  the  truth  and  force 
of  the  original  sketch,  which  I  regret  that  I  am  unable  to 
present  to  the  public,  as  it  was  written  with  much  feeling 
and  spirit. 

Old  and  odd  books,  and  a  considerable  collection  of 
'amily  legends,  formed  another  quarry,  so  ample,  that  it 
was  much  more  likely  that  the  strength  of  the  labourer 
should  be  exhausted",  than  that  materials  should  fail.  I 
may  mention,  for  example's  sake,  that  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  actually  occurred 
in  a  Scottish  family  of  rank.  The  female  relative,  by 


IVTEODUCXIOy.  XJ 

wb  jm  the  melancholy  tale  was  communicated  to  me  many 
fears  since,  was  a  near  connexion  of  the  family  in  which 
the  event  happened,  and  always  told  h  with  an  appear- 
ance of  melancholy  mystery,  which  enhanced  the  interest. 
She  bad  known,  in  her  youth,  the  brother  who  rode  be- 
fore the  unhappy  victim  to  the  fatal  a!tar,  who,  though  then 
a  mere  boy,  and  occupied  almost  entirely  with  the  gaiety 
of  his  own  appearance  in  the  bridal  procession,  could  not 
but  remark  that  the  hand  of  his  sister  was  moist,  and  cold 
as  that  of  a  statue.  It  is  unnecessary  further  to  withdraw 
the  vefl  from  this  scene  of  family  distress,  nor,  although 
h  occurred  more  than  a  hundred  years  since,  might  h  be 
altogether  agreeable  to  the  representatires  of  the  families 
concerned  in  the  narrative.  It  may  be  proper  to  say, 
that  the  events  alone  are  imitated  ;  but  I  had  neither  the 
means  nor  intention  of  copying  the  manners,  or  tracing 
the  characters,  of  the  persons  concerned  in  the  real  story 
Indeed,  I  may  here  state  generally,  that  akhough  I 
have  deemed  historical  personages  free  subjects  of  delin- 
eation, 1  have  never  on  any  occasion  violated  the  respect 
due  to  private  fife.  It  was  indeed  impossible  that  traits 
proper  to  persons,  both  living  and  dead,  with  whom  I  have 
had  intercourse  in  society,  should  not  have  risen  to  my 
pen  in  such  works  as  Waverley ,  and  those  which  followed 
it.  But  I  have  always  studied  to  generalize  the  portraits, 
so  that  they  should  still  seem,  on  the  whole,  the  produc- 
tions of  fancy,  though  possessing  some  resemblance  to 
real  individuals.  Yet  I  most  own  my  attempts  have  not 
in  this  last  particular  been  uniformly  successful.  There 
are  men  whose  characters  are  so  peculiarly  marked,  that 
the  delineation  of  some  leading  and  principal  feature,  in- 
evitably places  the  whole  person  before  you  in  his  indi- 
viduality. Thus,  the  character  of  Jonathan  Oidbock.  in 
the  Antiquary,  was  partly  founded  on  that  of  an  old  friend 
of  my  youth,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  introducing  me 
to  Sbakspeare,  and  other  invaluable  favours  ;  but  1  thought 
I  bad  so  completely  disguised  the  likeness,  that  hb  fea- 
tures could  not  be  recognized  by  any  one  now  alive.  I 
was  mistaken,  however,  and  indeed  had  endangered  what 


X.11  INTRODUCTION. 

I  desired  should  be  considered  as  a  secret ;  for  I  after- 
wards learned  that  a  highly  respectable  gentleman,  one  of 
the  few  surviving  friends  of  my  father,5  and  an  acute 
critic,  had  said,  upon  the  appearance  of  the  work,  that  he, 
was  now  convinced  who  was  the  author  of  it,  as  he  re- 
cognized, in  the  Antiquary  of  Monkharns,  traces  of  the 
character  of  a  very  intimate  friend  of  my  father's  family. 

I  may  here  also  notice,  that  the  sort  of  exchange  01 
gallantry,  which  is  represented  as  taking  place  betwi.»t 
the  Baron  of  Bradvvardine  and  Colonel  Talbot,  is  a  lite- 
ral fact.  The  real  circumstances  of  the  anecdote,  alike 
honourable  to  Whig  and  Tory,  are  these  : — 

Alexander  Stewart  of  Invernahyle, — a  name  which  1 
cannot  write  without  the  warmest  recollections  of  grati- 
tude to  the  friend  of  my  childhood,  who  first  introduced 
me  to  the  Highlands,  their  traditions,  and  their  manners, 
— had  been  engaged  actively  in  the  troubles  of  1745. 
As  he  charged  at  the  battle  of  Preston  with  his  clan,  the 
Stewarts  of  Appine,  he  saw  an  officer  of  the  opposite 
army  standing  alone  by  a  battery  of  four  cannon,  of  which 
he  discharged  three  on  the  advancing  Highlanders,  and 
then  drew  his  sword.  Invernahyle  rushed  on  him,  and 
required  him  to  surrender.  "  Never  to  rebels  !"  was  the 
undaunted  reply,  accompanied  with  a  lounge,  which  the 
Highlander  received  on  his  target ;  but  instead  of  using 
his  sword  in  cutting  down  his  now  defenceless  antagon- 
ist, he  employed  it  in  parrying  the  blow  of  a  Lochaber 
axe,  aimed  at  the  officer  by  the  Miller,  one  of  his  own 
followers,  a  grim-looking  old  Highlander,  whom  I  re 
member  to  have  seen.  Thus  overpowered,  Lieutenant 
Colonel  Allan  Whiteford,  a  gentleman  of  rank  and  con- 
sequence, as  well  as  a  brave  officer,  gave  up  his  sword, 
and  with  it  his  purse  and  watch,  which  Invernahyle  ac- 
cepted, to  save  them  from  his  followers.  After  the  affair 
was  over,  Mr.  Stewart  sought  out  his  prisoner,  and  they 
were  introduced  to  each  other  by  the  celebrated  John 
Roy  Stewart,  who  acquainted  Colonel  Whiteford  with  the 
quality  of  his  captor,  and  made  him  aware  of  the  neces- 
sity of  receiving  back  his  property,  which  he  was  inclined 


INTRODUCTION.  Xl]| 

to  leave  in. the  hands  into  which  it  had  fallen.  So  great 
became  the  confidence  established  betwixt  them,  that 
Invernahyle  obtained  from  the  Chevalier  his  prisoner's 
freedom  upon  parole  ;  and  soon  afterwards,  having  been 
sent  back  to  the  Highlands  to  raise  men,  he  visited  Col- 
onel Whiteford  at  his  own  house,  and  spent  two  happy 
days  with  him  and  his  Whig  friends,  without  thinking,  on 
either  side,  of  the  civil  war  which  was  then  raging. 

When  the  battle  of  Culloden  put  an  end  to  the  hopes 
of  Charles  Edward,  Invernahyle,  wounded  and  unable  to 
move,  was  borne  from  the  field  by  the  faithful  zeal  of  his 
retainers.  But  as  he  had  been  a  distinguished  Jacobite, 
his  family  and  property  were  exposed  to  the  system  of 
vindictive  destruction,  too  generally  carried  into  execu- 
tion through  the  country  of  the  insurgents.  It  was  now 
Colonel  Whiteford's  turn  to  exert  himself,  and  he  wearied 
all  the  authorities,  civil  and  military,  with  his  solicitations 
for  pardon  to  the  saver  of  his  life,  or  at  least  for  a  pro- 
tection for  his  wife  and  family.  His  applications  were 
for  a  long  time  unsuccessful :  "  I  was  found  with  the  mark 
of  the  Beast  upon  me  in  every  list,"  was  Invernahyle's 
expression.  At  length  Colonel  Whiteford  applied  to  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  and  urged  his  suit  with  every  argu- 
ment which  he  could  think  of.  Being  still  repulsed,  he 
took  his  commission  from  his  bosom,  and,  having  said 
Something  of  ins  own  and  his  family's  exertions  in  the  cause 
of  the  House  of  Hanover,  begged  to  resign  his  situation  in 
their  service,  since  he  could  not  be  permitted  to  show  his 
gratitude  to  the  person  to  whom  he  owed  his  life.  The 
Duke,  struck  with  his  earnestness,  desired  him  to  take  up 
his  commission,  and  granted  the  protection  required  for  the 
family  of  Invernahyle. 

The  Chieftain  himself  lay  concealed  in  a  cave  near  his 
own  house,  before  which  a  small  body  of  regular  soldiers 
was  encamped.  He  could  hear  their  muster-roll  called 
every  morning,  and  their  drums  beat  to  quarters  at  night, 
and  not  a  change  of  the  sentinels  escaped  him.  As  it 
tvas  suspected  that  he  was  lurking  somewhere  on  the 
property,  his  family  were  closely  watched,  and  compelled 

VOL.    1. 


X.1V  1NTHODUCTION. 

to  use  the  utmost  precaution  in  supplying  him  with  food 
One  of  his  daughters,  a  child  of  eight  or  ten  years  old 
was  employed  as  the  agent  least  likely  to  be  suspected 
She  was  an  instance  among  others,  that  a  time  of  dangei 
and  difficulty  creates  a  premature  sharpness  of  intellect 
She  made  herself  acquainted  among  the  soldiers,  till  she 
became  so  familiar  to  them,  that  her  motions  escaped  their 
notice  ;  and  her  practice  was,  to  stroll  away  into  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  cave,  and  leave  what  slender  supply 
of  food  she  carried  for  that  purpose  under  some  remark- 
able stone,  or  the  root  of  some  tree,  where  her  father 
might  find  it  as  he  crept  by  night  from  his  lurking-place. 
Times  became  milder,  and  my  excellent  friend  was  re- 
lieved from  proscription  by  the  Act  of  Indemnity.  Such 
is  the  interesting  story  which  I  have  rather  injured  than 
improved,  by  the  manner  in  which  it  is  told  in  Waverley 

This  incident,  with  several  other  circumstances  illus- 
trating the  Tales  in  question,  was  communicated  by  me 
to  my  late  lamented  friend,  William  Erskine,  (a  Scottish 
Judge,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder,)  who  afterwards  re- 
viewed with  far  too  much  partiality  the  Tales  of  my  Land- 
lord, for  the  Quarterly  Review  of  January  1817.6  In  the 
same  article,  are  contained  other  illustrations  of  the  Nov- 
els, with  which  I  supplied  my  accomplished  friend,  who 
took  the  trouble  to  write  the  review.  The  reader  who  is 
desirous  of  such  information,  will  find  the  original  of  Meg 
Merrilees,  and  I  believe  of  one  or  two  other  personages 
of  the  same  cast  of  character,  in  the  article  referred  to. 

I  may  also  mention,  that  the  tragic  and  savage  circum- 
stances which  are  represented  as  preceding  the  birth  of 
Allan  MacAulay,  in  the  Legend  of  Montrose.  really  hap- 
pened in  the  family  of  Stewart  of  Ai  dvoirlich.  The  wager 
about  the  candlesticks,  whose  place  was  supplied  by  High 
land  torch-bearers,  was  laid  and  won  by  one  of  the  Mac- 
Donalds  of  Keppoch. 

There  can  be  but  little  amusement  in  winnowing  out 
the  few  grains  of  truth  which  are  contained  in  this  mass  of 
empty  fiction.  I  may,  however,  before  dismissing  the 
subject,  allude  to  the  various  localities  which  have  been 
affixed  to  some  of  the  scenery  introduced  into  these  Nov 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

els,  by  which,  for  example,  Wolfs-Hope  is  identified  \vith 
Fast-Castle  in  Berwickshire, — Tillietudlem  with  Dra- 
phane  in  Clydesdale, — and  the  valley  in  the  Monastery, 
called  Glendearg,  with  the  dale  of  the  river  Allan,  above 
Lord  Sornerville's  villa,  near  Melrose.  I  can  only  say ,  that, 
ip  these  and  other  instances,  I  had  no  purpose  of  describing 
any  particular  local  spot ;  and  the  resemblance  must 
therefore  be  of  that  general  kind  which  necessarily  exists 
between  scenes  of  the  same  character.  The  iron-bound 
coast  of  Scotland  affords  upon  its  headlands  and  promon- 
tories fifty  such  castles  as  Wolf's-Hope  ;  every  county  has 
a  valley  more  or  less  resembling  Glendearg  ;  and  if  castles 
like  Tillietudlem,  or  mansions  like  the  Baron  of  Brad- 
wardine's,  are  now  less  frequently  to  be  met  with,  it  is 
owing  to  the  rage  of  indiscriminate  destruction,  which  has 
removed  or  ruined  so  many  monuments  of  antiquity,  when 
they  were  not  protected  by  their  inaccessible  situation.7 

The  scraps  of  poetry  which  have  been  in  most  cases 
tacked  to  the  beginning  of  chapters  in  these  Novels,  are 
sometimes  quoted  either  from  reading  or  from  memory, 
but,  in  the  general  case,  are  pure  invention.  I  found  it 
too  troublesome  to  turn  to  the  collection  of  the  British 
Poets  to  discover  apposite  mottos,  and,  in  the  situation  of 
the  theatrical  mechanist,  who,  when  the  white  paper  which 
represented  bis  shower  of  snow  was  exhausted,  continued 
the  storm  by  snowing  brown,  1  drew  on  my  memory  as 
long  as  1  could,  and,  when  that  failed,  eked  it  out  with  in- 
vention. I  believe  that,  in  some  cases,  where  actual  names 
are  affixed  to  the  supposed  quotations,  it  would  be  to  little 
purpose  to  seek  them  in  the  works  of  the  authors  referred  to. 
In  some  cases,  I  have  been  entertained  when  Dr.  Watts 
and  other  graver  authors,  have  been  ransacked  in  vain 
for  stanzas  for  which  the  novelist  alone  was  responsible 
And  now  the  reader  may  expect  me,  while  in  the  confes- 
sional, to  explain  the  motives  why  I  have  so  long  persisted 
iti  disclaiming  the  works  of  which  lain  now  writing.  To  this 
it  would  be  difficult  to  give  any  other  reply,  save  thai  of  Cor- 
poral Nyrn — It  was  the  author's  humour  or  caprice  for  the 
time.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  construed  into  ingratitude  to  the 
public,  to  whose  indulgence  I  have  owed  my  sang  froid 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

much  more  than  to  any  merit  of  my  own,  if  I  confess  that  1 
am, and  have  been,  more  indifferent  tosuccess,oi  to  failure, 
as  an  author,  than  may  be  the  case  with  others,  who  feel 
more  strongly  the  passion  for  literary  fame,  probably  be- 
cause they  are  justly  conscious  of  a  better  title  to  it.  It 
was  not  until  I  had  attained  the  age  of  thirty  years  that  I 
made  any  serious  attempt  at  distinguishing  myself  as  an 
author ;  and  at  that  period,  men's  hopes,  desires,  and 
wishes,  have  usually  acquired  something  of  a  decisive 
character,  and  are  not  eagerly  and  easily  diverted  into  a 
new  channel.  When  I  made  the  discovery, — for  to  me 
it  was  one, — that  by  amusing  myself  with  composition, 
which  I  felt  a  delightful  occupation,  I  could  also  give 
pleasure  to  others,  and  became  aware  that  literary  pur- 
suits were  likely  to  engage  in  future  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  my  time,  I  felt  some  alarm  that  I  might  acquire 
those  habits  of  jealousy  and  fretfulness  which  have  les- 
sened, and  even  degraded,  the  character  even  of  great 
authors,  and  rendered  them,  by  their  petty  squabbles  and 
mutable  irritability,  the  laughing-stock  of  the  people  of  the 
world.  I  resolved,  therefore,  in  this  respect  to  guard  my 
breast,  perhaps  an  unfriendly  critic  may  add,  my  brow, 
with  triple  brass,8  and  as  much  as  possible  to  avoid  resting 
my  thoughts  and  wishes  upon  literary  success,  lest  I  should 
endanger  my  own  peace  of  mind  and  tranquillity  by  literary 
failure.  It  would  argue  either  stupid  apathy,  or  ridiculous 
affectation,  to  say  that  I  have  been  insensible  to  the  public 
applause,  when  I  have  been  honoured  with  its  testimonies  ; 
and  still  more  highly  do  I  prize  the  invaluable  friendships 
which  some  temporary  popularity  has  enabled  rne  to  form 
among  those  of  my  contemporaries  most  distinguished  by 
talents  and  genius,  and  which  I  venture  to  hope  now  rest 
upon  a  basis  more  firm  than  the  circumstances  which  gave 
rise  to  them.  Yet  feeling  all  these  advantages  as  a  man 
ought  to  do,  and  must  do,  I  may  say,  with  truth  and  confi- 
dence, that  I  have,  I  think,  tasted  of  the  intoxicating  cup 
with  moderation,  and  that  I  have  never,  either  in  conversa-. 
tion  or  correspondence,  encouraged  discussions  respecting 
my  own  literary  pursuits.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  usually 
found  such  topics,  even  when  introduced  from  motives  most 


INTRODUCTION.  XV11 

flattering  to  myself,  rather  embarrassing  and  disagreeable 

1  have  now  frankly  told  my  motives  for  concealment 
so  far  as  I  am  conscious  of  having  any,  and  the  public 
will  forgive  the  egotism  of  the  detail,  as  what  is  necessa- 
rily connected  with  it.  The  author,  so  long  and  loudly 
called  for,  has  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  made  his  obei- 
sance to  the  audience.  Thus  far  his  conduct  is  a  mark 
of  respect.  To  linger  in  their  presence  would  be  in- 
trusion. 

I  have  only  to  repeat,  that  I  avow  myself  in  print,  as 
formerly  in  words,  the  sole  and  unassisted  author  of  all 
the  Novels  published  as  works  of  the  "  Author  of  Wa- 
verley."  I  do  this  without  shame,  for  I  am  unconscious 
that  there  is  anything  in  their  composition  which  de- 
serves reproach,  either  on  the  score  of  religion  or  mo- 
rality ;  and  without  any  feeling  of  exultation,  because, 
whatever  may  have  been  their  temporary  success,  1  am 
well  aware  how  much  their  reputation  depends  upon  the 
caprice  of  fashion  ;  and  I  have  already  mentioned  the 
precarious  tenure  by  which  it  is  held,  as  a  reason  for 
displaying  no  great  avidity  in  grasping  at  the  possession. 

I  ought  to  mention,  before  concluding,  that  twenty 
persons  at  least  were,  either  from  intimacy  or  from  the 
confidence  which  circumstances  rendered  necessary,  par- 
ticipant of  this  secret ;  and  as  there  was  no  instance,  to 
my  knowledge,  of  any  one  of  the  number  breaking  faith, 
1  am  the  more  obliged  to  them,  because  the  slight  and 
trivial  character  of  the  mystery  was  not  qualified  to  inspire 
much  respect  in  those  intrusted  with  it.  Nevertheless, 
like  Jack  the  Giant-Killer,  1  was  fully  confident  in  the 
advantage  of  my  "  Coat  of  Darkness,"  and  had  it  not, 
been  from  compulsory  circumstances,  I  would  have  in- 
deed been  very  cautious  how  I  parted  with  it. 

As.  for  the  work  which  follows,  it  was  meditated,  and 
in  part  printed,  long  before  the  avowal  of  the  novels  took 
place,  and  originally  commenced  with  a  declaration  thai 
it  was  neither  to  have  introduction  nor  preface  of  any 
kind.  This  long  proem,  prefixed  to  a  work  intended  no. 
to  have  any,  may,  however,  serve  to  show  how  human 
523 


INTRODUCTION. 

purposes,  m  the  most  trifling  as  well  as  the  most  impor. 
tant  affairs,  are  liable  to  be  controlled  by  the  course  oi 
events.  Thus,  we  begin  to  cross  a  strong  river  with  our 
eyes  and  our  resolution  fixed  on  that  point  of  the  opposite 
shore,  on  which  we  purpose  to  land  ;  but,  gradually  giv- 
ing way  to  the  torrent,  are  glad,  by  the  aid  perhaps  of 
branch  or  bush,  to  extricate  ourselves  at  some  distant  and 
perhaps  dangerous  landing-place,  much  farther  down  the 
stream  than  that  on  which  we  had  fixed  our  intentions. 

Hoping  that  the  Courteous  Reader  will  afford  to  a 
known  and  familiar  acquaintance  some  portion  of  the 
favour  which  he  extended  to  a  disguised  candidate  for 
his  applause,  I  beg  leave  to  subscribe  myself  his  obliged 
humble  servant, 

WALTER  SCOTT. 

ABBOTSFORD,  October  1, 1827. 


SUCH  was  the  little  narrative  which  I  thought  proper 
to  put  forth  in  October  1827  :  nor  have  I  much  to  add 
to  it  now.  About  to  appear  for  the  first  time  in  my  own 
name  in  this  department  of  letters,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
something  in  the  shape  of  a  periodical  publication  might 
carry  with  it  a  certain  air  of  novelty,  and  I  was  willing 
to  break,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  the  abruptness  of  my 
personal  forthcoming,  by  investing  an  imaginary  coadju- 
tor with  at  least  as  much  distinctness  of  individual  exist- 
ence as  I  had  ever  previously  thought  it  worth  while  to 
bestow  on  shadows  of  the  same  convenient  tribe.  Of 
course,  it  had  never  been  in  my  contemplation  to  invite 
the  assistance  of  any  real  person  in  the  sustaining  of  my 
quasi-editorial  character  and  labours.  It  had  long  been 
my  opinion,  that  any  thing  like  a  literary  picnic  is  likely 
to  end  in  suggesting  comparisons,  justly  termed  odious, 
and  therefore  to  be  avoided  :  and  indeed,  I  had  also  had 
some  occasion  to  know,  that  promises  of  assistance,  in 
efforts  of  that  order,  are  apt  to  be  more  magnificent  than 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

the  subsequent  performance.  I  therefore  planned  a  Mis- 
cellany, to  be  dependent,  after  the  old  fashion,  on  my 
own  reso'irces  alone,  and  although  conscious  enough  that 
the  moment  which  assigned  to  the  Author  of  Waverley 
"  a  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  had  seriously  endan- 
gered his  spell,  I  felt  inclined  to  adopt  the  sentiment  of 
my  old  hero  Montrose,  and  to  say  to  myself,  that  in 
literature,  as  in  war, 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

To  the  particulars  explanatory  of  the  plan  of  these 
Chronicles,  which  the  reader  is  presented  with  in  Chap- 
ter II.  by  the  imaginary  Editor,  Mr.  Croftangry,  I  have 
now  to  add,  that  the  lady,  termed  in  his  narrative,  Mrs. 
Bethune  Balliol,  was  designed  to  shadow  out  in  its  lead- 
ing points  the  interesting  character  of  a  dear  friend  of 
mine,  Mrs.  Murray  Keith,*  whose  death  occurring  shortly 
before,  had  saddened  a  wide  circle,  much  attached  to  her, 
as  well  for  her  genuine  virtue  and  amiable  qualities  of 
disposition,  as  for  the  extent  of  information  which  she 
possessed,  and  the  delightful  manner  in  which  she  was 
used  to  communicate  it.  In  truth,  the  author  had,  on 
many  occasions,  been  indebted  to  her  vivid  memory  for 
the  substratum  of  his  Scottish  fictions — and  she  accord- 

*  The  Keiths  of  Craig,  in  Kincardineshire,  descended  from  John  Keith, 
fourth  son  of  William,  second  Earl  Marischal,  who  got  from  his  father,  about 
1480,  the  lands  of  Craig.,  and  part  of  Garvock,  in  that  county.  In  Douglas's 
Baronage,  '143  to  445,  is  a  pedigree  of  lhat  family.  Colonel  Robert  Keith 
of  Craig  (the  seventh  in  descent  from  John)  by  his  wife,  Agnes,  daughter  of 
Robert  Murray  of  Murravshall,  of  the  family  of  Blackbarony,  widow  of 
Colonel  Stirling,  of  the  family  of  Keir,  had  one  son  ;  viz.  Robert  Keith  of 
Craig,  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Vienna,  afterwards  to  St.  Petersburg!!, 
which  latter  situation  he  held  at  the  accession  of  King  George  III., — who 
died  at  Edinburgh  in  1774.  He  married  Margaret,  second  daughter  of  Sir 
William  Cunningham  of  Caprington,  by  Janet,  only  child  and  heiress  of  Sir 
James  Dick  of  Prestonfield  ;  and,  among  other  children  of  this  marriage, 
were,  the  late  well-known  diplomatist,  bir  Robert  Murray  Keith,  K.  P>  .  a 
general  in  the  army,  and  for  some  time  ambassador  at  Vienna  ;  Sir  Basil 
Keith,  Kniglit,  captain  in  the  navy,  who  died  governor  of  Jamaica  ;  and  mj 
excellent  friend,  Anne  Murray  Keith,  who  ultimately  came  into  possession  of 
the  family  estates,  and  died  not  long  before  the  dale  of  this  Introduction 
(1831.) 


KX  IKTRODUCTION. 

ingl}  had  been,  from  an  early  period,  at  no  loss  to  fix  the 
Waverley  Novels  on  the  right  culprit. 

In  the  sketch  of  Chrystal  Croftangry's  own  history 
the  author  has  been  accused  of  introducing  some  not  po- 
lite allusions  to  respectable  living  individuals  :  but  he 
may  safely,  he  presumes,  pass  over  such  an  insinuation. 
The  first  of  the  narratives  which  Mr.  Croftangry  pro- 
ceeds to  lay  before  the  public,  "  The  Highland  Widow," 
was  derived  from  Mrs.  Murray  Keith,  and  is  given,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  additional  circumstances — the  in- 
troduction of  which  1  am  rather  inclined  to  regret — very 
much  as  the  excellent  old  lady  used  to  tell  the  story. 
Neither  the  Highland  cicerone  Macturk,  nor  the  demure 
washingwoman,  were  drawn  from  imagination  :  and  on 
re-reading  my  tale,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  years,  and 
comparing  its  effect  with  my  remembrance  of  my  worthy 
friend's  oral  narration,  which  was  certainly  extremely 
affecting,  I  cannot  but  suspect  myself  of  having  marred 
its  simplicity  by  some  of  those  interpolations,  which,  at 
the  time  when  I  penned  them,  no  doubt  passed  with  my- 
self for  embellishments. 

The  next  tale,  entitled  "  The  Two  Drovers,"  I  learn- 
ed from  another  old  friend,  the  late  George  Constable. 
Esq.  of  Wallace-Craigie,  near  Dundee,  whom  I  have  al- 
ready introduced  to  my  reader  as  the  original  Antiquary 
of  Monkbarns.  He  had  been  present,  I  think,  at  the 
trial  at  Carlisle,  and  seldom  mentioned  the  venerable 
judge's  charge  to  the  jury,  without  shedding  tears,— 
which  had  peculiar  pathos,  as  flowing  down  features, 
carrying  rather  a  sarcastic  or  almost  a  cynical  expression. 

This  worthy  gentleman's  reputation  for  shrewd  Scot- 
tish sense — knowledge  of  our  national  antiquities — and  a 
racy  humour,  peculiar  to  himself,  must  be  still  remembered. 
Foi  myself,  I  have  pride  in  recording  that  for  many  years 
we  were,  in  Wordsworth's  language, 


•  a  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 


And  '  George'  was  seventy-two." 

w  s. 

ABBOISFORLI,  August  15,  1831. 


APPENDIX 


IN TROD  UCTIOX 


lit  has  been  suggested  to  the  Author,  that  it  might  be  well  to  reprint  brut 
•  detailed  account  of  toe  public  dinner  alluded  to  ui  the  foregoing  Introduc- 
tion, as  given  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time  ;  and  the  reader  is  accordingly 
presented  with  the  following  extract  from  the  EDINBURGH  WEEKLY  JOCK- 
HAL  ibr  Wednesday,  28ih  February,  1827.] 


THEATRICAL  FUND  DINNER. 

BEFORE  proceeding  with  our  account  of  this  very  in- 
teresting festival — for  so  it  may  be  termed — it  is  our 
duty  to  present  to  our  readers  the  following  letter,  which 
we  have  received  from  the  President. 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  EDINBURGH  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 

Sir, — I  am  extremely  sorry  I  have  not  leisure  to  cor- 
rect the  copy  you  sent  me  of  what  I  am  stated  to  have 
said  at  the  Dinner  for  the  Theatrical  Fund.  I  am  no 
orator ;  and  upon  such  occasions  as  are  alluded  to,  I  say 
as  well  as  I  can  what  the  time  requires. 

However,  I  hope  your  reporter  has  been  more  accu- 
rate in  other  instances  than  in  mine.  I  have  corrected 
one  passage,  in  which  I  am  made  to  speak  with  great 
impropriety  and  petulance,  respecting  the  opinions  of 
those  who  do  not  approve  of  dramatic  entertainments 
I  ha\e  restored  what  I  said,  which  was  meant  to  be  re- 
spectful, as  every  objection  founded  hi  conscience  is,  hi 
my  opinion,  entitled  to  be  so  treated.  Other  errors  I 
left  as  I  found  them,  it  being  of  little  consequence  whethe* 


XX11  APPENDIX    TO 

I  spoke  sense  or  nonsense,  in  what  was  merely  intended 
for  the  purpose  of  the  hour. 

I  am,  sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

WALTER  SCOTT. 

Edinburgh,  Monday. 


The  Theatrical  Fund  Dinner,  which  took  place  on 
Friday,  in  the  Assembly  Rooms,  was  conducted  with 
admirable  spirit.  The  Chairman,  Sir  WALTER  SCOTT, 
among  his  other  great  qualifications,  is  well  fitted  to  en- 
liven such  an  entertainment.  His  manners  are  extreme- 
ly easy,  and  his  style  of  speaking  simple  and  natural,  yet 
full  of  vivacity  and  point ;  and  he  has  the  art,  if  it  be 
art,  of  relaxing  into  a  certain  homeliness  of  manner, 
without  losing  one  particle  of  his  dignity.  He  thus  takes 
off  some  of  that  solemn  formality  which  belongs  to  such 
meetings,  and,  by  his  easy  and  graceful  familiarity,  im- 
parts to  them  somewhat  of  the  pleasing  character  of  a 
private  entertainment.  Near  Sir  W.  Scott  sat  the  Earl 
of  Fife,  Lord  IVleadowbank,  Sir  John  Hope  of  Pinkie, 
Bart.,  Admiral  Adam,  Baron  Clerk  Rattray,  Gilbert 
Innes,  Esq.,  James  Walker,  Esq.,  Robert  Dundas,  Esq., 
Alexander  Smith,  Esq.,  &c. 

The  cloth  being  removed,  "  Non  Nobis  Domine"  was 
sung  by  Messrs.  Thome,  Swift,  Collier,  and  Hartley, 
after  which  the  following  toasts  were  given  from  the 
chair : 

"  The  King" — all  the  honours. 

"  The  Duke  of  Clarence  and  the  Royal  Family." 

The  CHAIRMAN,  in  proposing  the  next  toast,  which 
he  wished  to  be  drunk  in  solemn  silence,  said  it  was  to 
the  memory  of  a  regretted  prince,  whom  we  had  lately 
lost.  Every  individual  would  at  once  conjecture  to  whom 
he  alluded.  He  had  no  intention  to  dwell  on  his  mili- 
tary merits.  They  had  been  told  in  the  senate ;  they 
had  been  repeated  in  the  cottage  ;  and  whenever  a  sol- 
dier was  the  theme,  his  name  was  never  far  distant.  But. 


INTRODUCTION.  XMU 

it  wae  chiefly  :n  connexion  with  the  business  of  tiiia 
meeting,  which  his  late  Royal  Highness  had  condescend- 
ed in  a  particular  manner  to  patronise,  that  they  were 
called  on  to  drink  his  health.  To  that  charity  he  had 
often  sacrificed  his  time,  and  had  given  up  the  little 
leisure  which  he  had  from  important  business.  He  was 
always  ready  to  attend  on  every  occasion  of  this  kind, 
and  it  was  in  that  view  that  he  proposed  to  drink  to  the 
memory  of  his  late  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  York. 
— Drunk  in  solemn  silence. 

The  CHAIRMAN  then  requested  that  gentlemen  would 
fill  a  bumper  as  full  as  it  would  hold,  while  he  would  say 
only  a  few  words.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  hearing 
speeches,  and  he  knew  the  feeling  with  which  long  ones 
were  regarded.  He  was  sure  that  it  was  perfectly  un- 
necessary for  him  to  enter  into  any  vindication  of  the 
dramatic  art,  which  they  had  come  here  to  support. 
This,  however,  he  considered  to  be  the  proper  time  and 
proper  occasion  for  him  to  say  a  few  words  on  that  love 
of  representation  which  was  an  innate  feeling  in  human 
nature.  It  was  the  first  amusement  that  the  child 
had — it  grew  greater  as  he  grew  up  ;  and,  even  in  the 
decline  of  life,  nothing  amused  so  much  as  when  a 
common  tale  is  told  with  appropriate  personification. 
The  first  thing  a  child  does  is  to  ape  his  school- 
master, by  flogging  a  chair.  The  assuming  a  character 
ourselves,  or  the  seeing  others  assume  an  imaginary 
character,  is  an  enjoyment  natural  to  humanity.  It 
was  implanted  in  our  very  nature,  to  take  pleasure 
from  such  representations,  at  proper  times  and  on  proper 
occasions  In  all  ages  the  theatrical  art  had  kept  pace 
with  the  improvement  of  mankind,  and  with  the  pro- 
gress of  letters  and  the  fine  arts.  As  man  has  advanced 
from  the  ruder  stages  of  society,  the  love  of  dramatic 
representations  has  increased,  and  all  works  of  this  na- 
ture have  been  improved,  in  character  and  in  struct  ire. 
They  had  only  to  turn  their  eyes  to  the  history  of  an- 
cient Greece,  although  he  did  not  pretend  to  be  very 
deeply  versed  in  its  ancient  drama.  Its  first  tragic  poet 


APPENDIX    TO 

commanded  a  body  of  troops  at  the  battle  of  Marathon. 
Sophocles  and  Euripides  were  men  of  rank  in  Athens 
when  Athens  was  in  its  highest  renown.  They  shook 
Athens  with  their  discourses,  as  their  theatrical  works 
shook  the  theatre  itself.  If  they  turned  to  France  in 
the  time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  that  era  which  is  the 
classical  history  of  that  country,  they  would  find  that  it 
was  referred  to  by  all  Frenchmen  as  the  golden  age  of 
the  drama  there.  And  also  in  England,  in  the  time  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  the  drama  was  at  its  highest  pitch,  when 
the  nation  began  to  mingle  deeply  and  wisely  in  the  general 
politics  of  Europe,  not  only  not  receiving  laws  from  others, 
but  giving  laws  to  the  world,  and  vindicating  the  rights 
of  mankind.  (Cheers.)  There  have  been  various 
times  when  the  dramatic  art  subsequently  fell  into  disre- 
pute. Its  professors  have  been  stigmatized  ;  and  laws 
have  been  passed  against  them,  less  dishonourable  to 
them  than  to  the  statesmen  by  whom  they  were  proposed, 
and  to  the  legislators  by  whom  they  were  adopted.  What 
were  the  times  in  which  these  laws  were  passed  ?  Was 
it  not  when  virtue  was  seldom  inculcated  as  a  moral 
duty,  that  we  were  required  to  relinquish  the  most  ra- 
tional of  all  our  amusements,  when  the  clergy  were  en- 
joined celibacy,  and  when  the  laity  were  denied  the 
right  to  read  their  Bibles  ?  He  thought  that  it  must 
have  been  from  a  notion  of  penance  that  they  erected 
the  drama  into  an  ideal  place  of  profaneness,  and  spoke 
of  the  theatre  as  of  the  tents  of  sin.  He  did  not  mean 
to  dispute,  that  there  were  many  excellent  persons  who 
thought  differently  from  him,  and  he  disclaimed  the 
slightest  idea  of  charging  them  with  bigotry  or  hypocrisy 
on  that  account.  He  gave  them  full  credit  for  their  ten- 
der consciences,  in  making  these  objections,  although 
they  did  not  appear  relevant  to  him.  But  to  these 
persons,  being,  as  he  believed  them,  men  of  worth  and 
piety,  he  was  sure  the  purpose  of  this  meeting  would 
furnish  some  apology  for  an  error,  if  there  be  any, 
in  the  opinions  of  those  who  attend.  They  would 
approve  the  gift,  although  they  might  differ  in  other 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

points.  Such  might  not  approve  of  going  to  the  Thea- 
tre, but  at  yeast  could  not  deny  that  they  m  ght  give 
away  from  their  superfluity,  what  was  required  for  the  re- 
lief of  the  sick,  the  support  of  the  aged,  and  the  comfort 
of  the  afflicted.  These  were  duties  enjoined  by  our  re- 
ligion itself.  (Loud  cheers.) 

The  performers  are  in  a  particular  manner  entitled  to 
the  support  or  regard,  when  in  old  age  or  distress,  of 
those  who  had  partaken  of  the  amusements  of  those 
places  which  they  render  an  ornament  to  society.  Their 
art  was  of  a  peculiarly  delicate  and  precarious  nature. 
They  had  to  serve  a  long  apprenticeship.  It  was  very 
long  before  even  the  first-rate  geniuses  could  acquire  the 
mechanical  knowledge  of  the  stage  business.  They 
must  languish  long  in  obscurity  before  they  can  avail 
themselves  of  their  natural  talents  ;  and  after  that,  they 
have  but  a  short  space  of  time,  during  which  they  are 
fortunate  if  they  can  provide  the  means  of  comfort  in 
the  decline  of  life.  That  comes  late,  and  lasts  but  a 
short  time  ;  after  which  they  are  left  dependent.  Their 
limbs  fail — their  teeth  are  loosened — their  voice  is  lost — 
and  they  are  left,  after  giving  happiness  to  others,  in  a 
most  disconsolate  state.  The  public  were  liberal  and 
generous  to  those  deserving  their  protection.  It  was  a 
sad  thing  to  be  dependent  on  the  favour,  or,  he  might 
say,  in  plain  terms,  on  the  caprice,  of  the  public ;  and 
this  more  particularly  for  a  class  of  persons  of  whom  ex- 
treme prudence  is  not  the  character.  There  might  be 
instances  of  opportunities  being  neglected  ;  but  let  each 
gentleman  tax  himself,  and  consider  the  opportunities 
they  had  neglected,  and  the  sums  of  money  they  had 
wasted  ;  let  every  gentleman  look  into  his  own  bosom, 
and  say  whether  these  were  circumstances  which  would 
soften  his  own  feelings,  were  he  to  be  plunged  into  dis- 
tress. He  put  it  to  every  generous  bosom — !o  every 
better  feeling — to  say  what  consolation  was  it  to  old  age 
to  be  told  that  you  might  have  made  provision  at  a  time 
winch  had  been  neglected — (loud  cheers), — and  to  find 
2  VOL.  i 


XXVI  APPENDIX    TO 

it  objected,  that  if  you  had  pleased  you  might  have  been 
vvealthy.  He  had  hitherto  been  speaking  of  what,  in 
theatrical  language,  was  called  stars,  but  they  were  some- 
times falling  ones.  There  were  another  class  of  suffer- 
ers naturally  and  necessarily  connected  with  the  theatre, 
without  whom  it  was  impossible  to  go  on.  The  sailors 
have  a  saying,  every  man  cannot  be  a  boatswain.  If 
ihere  must  be  a  great  actor  to  act  Hamlet,  there  must 
also  be  people  to  act  Laertes,  the  King,  Rosencrantz, 
and  Guildenstern,  otherwise  a  drama  cannot  go  on.  If 
even  Garrick  himself  were  to  rise  from  the  dead,  he 
could  not  act  Hamlet  alone.  There  must  be  generals, 
colonels,  commanding-officers,  subalterns.  But  what  are 
the  private  soldiers  to  do  ?  Many  have  mistaken  their  own 
talents,  and  have  been  driven  in  early  youth  to  try  the 
stage,  to  which  they  are  not  competent.  He  would 
know  what  to  say  to  the  indifferent  poet  and  to  the  bad 
artist.  He  would  say  that  it  was  foolish,  and  he  would 
recommend  to  the  poet  to  become  a  scribe,  and  the  artist 
to  paint  sign-posts — (loud  laughter). — But  you  could  not 
send  the  player  adrift,  for  if  he  cannot  play  Hamlet,  he 
must  play  Guildenstern.  Where  there  are  many  labour- 
ers, wages  must  be  low,  and  no  man  in  such  a  situation 
can  decently  support  a  wife  and  family,  and  save  some- 
thing off  his  income  for  old  age.  What  is  this  man  to 
do  in  latter  life  ?  Are  you  to  cast  him  off  like  an  old 
hinge,  or  a  piece  of  useless  machinery,  which  has  done 
its  work  ?  To  a  person  who  had  contributed  to  our 
amusement,  this  would  be  unkind,  ungrateful,  and  un- 
christian. His  wants  are  not  of  his  own  making,  but 

O' 

arise  from  the  natural  sources  of  sickness  and  old  age. 
It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  one  class  of  sufferers  to 
whom  no  imprudence  can  be  ascribed,  except  on  first 
entering  on  the  profession.  After  putting  his  hand  to 
the  dramatic  plough,  he  cannot  draw  back  ;  but  must 
continue  at  it,  and  toil,  till  death  release  him  from  want, 
or  charity,  by  its  milder  influence,  steps  in  to  render  that 
want  more  tolerable.  He  had  little  more  to  say,  except 


INTRODUCTION.  XXVII 

that  he  sincerely  hoped  that  the  collection  to-day,  from  the 
number  of  respectable  gentlemen  present,  would  meet 
the  views  entertained  by  the  patrons.  He  hoped  it 
would  do  so.  They  should  not  be  disheartened.  Though 
they  could  not  do  a  great  deal,  they  might  do  something. 
They  had  this  consolation,  that  every  thing  they  parted 
with  from  their  superfluity  would  do  some  good.  They 
would  sleep  the  better  themselves  when  they  have  been 
the  means  of  giving  sleep  to  others.  It  was  ungrateful 
and  unkind,  that  those  who  had  sacrificed  their  youth  to 
our  amusement  should  not  receive  the  reward  due  to 
them,  but  should  be  reduced  to  hard  fare  in  their  old 
age.  We  cannot  think  of  poor  Falstaff  going  to  bed 
without  his  cup  of  sack,  or  Macbeth  fed  on  bones  as 
marrowless  as  those  of  Banquo. — (Loud  cheers  and 
laughter.) — As  he  .believed  that  they  were  all  as  fond  of 
the  dramatic  art  as  he  was  in  his  younger  days,  he  would 
propose  that  they  should  drink  "  The  Theatrical  Fund," 
with  three  times  three. 

Mr.  MACKAT  rose,  on  behalf  of  his  brethren,  to  return 
their  thanks  for  the  toast  just  drunk.  Many  of  the  gen- 
tlemen present,  he  said,  were  perhaps  not  fully  acquaint- 
ed with  the  nature  and  intention  of  the  institution,  and  it 
might  not  be  amiss  to  enter  into  some  explanation  on 
the  subject.  With  whomsoever  the  idea  of  a  Theatri- 
cal Fund  might  have  originated,  (and  it  had  been  dis- 
puted by  the  surviving  relatives  of  two  or  three  individ- 
uals,) certain  it  was,  that  the  first  legally  constituted 
Theatrical  Fund  owed  its  origin  to  one  of  the  brightest 
ornaments  of  the  profession,  the  late  David  Garrick. 
That  eminent  actor  conceived  that,  by  a  weekly  subscrip- 
tion in  the  Theatre,  a  fund  might  be  raised  among  its 
members,  from  which  a  portion  might  be  given  to  those 
of  his  less  fortunate  brethren,  and  thus  an  opportunity 
would  be  offered  for  prudence  to  provide  what  fortune 
had  denied — a  comfortable  provision  for  the  winter  of 
life.  With  the  welfare  of  his  profession  constantly  at 
heart,  the  zeal  with  which  he  laboured  to  uphold  its  re- 
spectability, and  t  >  impress  upon  the  minds  of  his  breth- 


\.nil  APPENDIX    TO 

ren,  not  only  the  necessity,  but  the  blessing  of  indep  enc 
ence,  the  Fund  became  his  peculiar  care.  He  drew  up 
a  form  of  laws  for  its  government,  procured,  at  his  own 
expense,  the  passing  of  an  Act  of  Parliament  for  its  con- 
firmation, bequeathed  to  it  a  handsome  legacy,  and  thus 
became  the  Father  of  the  Drury-Lane  Fund.  So  con- 
stant was  his  attachment  to  this  infant  establishment,  thai 
he  chose  to  grace  the  close  of  the  brightest  theatrical 
life  on  record,  by  the  last  display  of  his  transcendent 
talent,  on  the  occasion  of  a  benefit  for  this  child  of  his 
adoption,  which  ever  since  has  gone  by  the  name  of  the 
Garrick  Fund.  In  imitation  of  his  noble  example, 
Funds  had  been  established  in  several  provincial  theatres 
n  England  ;  but  it  remained  for  Mrs.  Henry  Siddons 
and  Mr.  William  Murray  to  become  the  founders  of  the 
first  Theatrical  Fund  in  Scotland.  %  (Cheers.)  This 
Fund  commenced  under  the  most  favourable  auspices  ; 
it  was  liberally  supported  by  the  management,  and  high- 
ly patronised  by  the  public.  Notwithstanding,  it  fell 
short  in  the  accomplishment  of  its  intentions.  What 
those  intentions  were,  he  (Mr.  Mackay)  need  not  re- 
capitulate, but  they  failed  ;  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
confess  that  a  want  of  energy  on  the  part  of  the  per- 
formers was  the  probable  cause.  A  new  set  of  Rules 
and  Regulations  were  lately  drawn  up,  submitted  to  and 
approved  of  at  a  general  meeting  of  the  members  of  the 
Theatre  ;  and  accordingly  the  Fund  was  re-modelled  on 
the  1st  of  January  last.  And  here  he  thought  he  did  but 
echo  the  feelings  of  his  brethren,  by  publicly  acknowledg- 
ing the  obligations  they  were  under  to  the  management,  for 
the  aid  given,  and  the  warm  interest  they  had  all  along 
taken  in  the  welfare  of  the  Fund.  (Cheers.)  The  na- 
ture and  object  of  the  profession  had  been  so  well  treated 
of  by  the  President,  that  he  would  say  nothing  ;  but  of 
the  numerous  offspring  of  science  and  genius  that  court 
precarious  fame,  the  Actor  boasts  the  slenderest  claim  of 
all  ;  the  sport  of  fortune,  the  creatures  of  fashion,  and 
the  victims  of  caprice — they  are  seen,  heard,  and  admired, 
but  to  be  forgot—  *hey  leave  no  trace,  no  memorial  of 


INTRODUCTION.  XXIX 

their  existence — they  "  come  like  shadows,  so  depart.'* 
(Cheers.)  Yet  humble  though  their  pretensions  be, 
there  was  no  profession,  trade,  or  calling,  where  such  a 
combination  of  requisites,  mental  and  bodily,  were  indis- 
pensable. In  all  others  the  principal  may  practise  after 
he  has  been  visited  by  the  afflicting  hand  of  Providence 
— some  by  the  loss  of  limb — some  of  voice — and  many, 
when  the  faculty  of  the  mind  is  on  the  wane,  may  be  as- 
sisted by  dutiful  children,  or  devoted  servants.  Not  so 
the  Actor — he  must  retain  all  he  ever  did  possess,  or  sink 
dejected  to  a  mournful  home.  (Applause.)  Yet  while 
they  are  toiling  for  ephemeral  theatric  fame,  how  very 
few  ever  possess  the  means  of  hoarding  in  their  youth 
that  which  would  give  bread  in  old  age  !  But  now  a 
brighter  prospect  dawned  upon  them,  and  to  the  success 
of  this  their  infant  establishment  they  looked  with  hope, 
as  to  a  comfortable  and  peaceful  home  in  their  declining 
years.  He  concluded  by  tendering  to  the  meeting,  in 
the  name  of  his  brethren  and  sisters,  their  unfeigned 
thanks  for  their  liberal  support,  and  begged  to  propose 
the  health  of  the  Patrons  of  the  Edinburgh  Theatrical 
Fund.  (Cheers.) 

Lord  MEADOWBANK  said,  that  by  desire  of  his  Hon. 
Friend  in  the  chair,  and  of  his  Noble  Friend  at  his  right 
hand,  he  begged  leave  to  return  thanks  for  the  honour 
which  had  been  conferred  on  the  Patrons  of  this  excel- 
lent Institution.  He  could  answer  for  himself — he  could 
answer  for  them  all — that  they  were  deeply  impressed 
with  the  meritorious  objects  which  it  has  in  view,  and  of 
their  anxious  wish  to  promote  its  interests.  For  himself, 
he  hoped  he  might  be  permitted  to  say,  that  he  was 
rather  surprised  at  finding  his  own  name  as  one  of  the 
Patrons,  associated  with  so  many  individuals  of  high  rank 
and  powerful  influence.  But  it  was  an  excuse  for  those 
who  had  placed  him  in  a  situation  so  honourable  and  so 
distinguished,  that  when  this  charity  was  instituted,  he 
happened  to  hold  a  high  and  responsible  station  under 
the  Crown,  when  he  might  have  been  of  use  in  assisting 

VOL,.   1. 


*XX  APPENDIX    TO 

and  promoting  its  objects.  His  Lordship  much  feared 
that  he  could  have  little  expectation,  situated  as  he  now 
was,  of  doing  either ;  but  he  could  confidently  assert, 
that  few  things  would  give  him  greater  gratification  than 
being  able  to  contribute  to  its  prosperity  and  support ; 
and,  indeed,  when  one  recollects  the  pleasure  which  at 
all  periods  of  life  he  has  received  from  the  exhibit rons 
of  the  stage,  and  the  exertions  of  the  meritorious  indi- 
viduals for  whose  aid  this  fund  has  been  established,  he 
must  be  divested  both  of  gratitude  and  feeling  who 
would  not  give  his  best  endeavours  to  promote  its  wel- 
fare. And  now,  that  he  might  in  some  measure  repay 
the  gratification  which  had  been  afforded  himself,  he 
would  beg  leave  to  propose  a  toast,  the  health  of  one 
of  the  Patrons,  a  great  and  distinguished  individual, 
whose  name  must  always  stand  by  itself,  and  which,  in 
an  assembly  such  as  this,  or  in  any  other  assembly  of 
Scotsmen,  can  never  be  received,  (not  he  would  say 
with  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure  or  of  delight,)  but 
with  those  of  rapture  and  enthusiasm.  In  doing  so  he 
felt  that  he  stood  in  a  somewhat  new  situation.  Who- 
ever had  been  called  upon  to  propose  the  health  of  his 
Hon.  Friend  to  whom  he  alluded,  some  time  ago,  would 
have  found  himself  enabled,  from  the  mystery  in  which 
certain  matters  were  involved,  to  gratify  himself  and  his 
auditors  by  allusions  which  found  a  responding  chord  in 
their  own  feelings,  and  to  deal  in  the  language,  the  sin- 
cere language,  of  panegyric,  without  intruding  on  the 
modesty  of  the  great  individual  to  whom  he  referred. 
But  it  was  no  longer  possible,  consistently  with  the  re- 
spect to  one's  auditors,  to  use  upon  this  subject  terms 
either  of  mystification,  or  of  obscure  or  indirect  allusion. 
The  clouds  have  been  dispelled — the  dnrkntss  visible 
has  been  cleared  away — and  the  Great  Unknown — the 
minstrel  of  our  native  land — the  mighty  magician  who 
has  rolled  back  the  current  of  time,  and  conjured  up  oe- 
fore  our  living  senses  the  men  and  the  manners  of  days 
whi^.h  have  long  passed  away,  stands  revealed  to  the 
hearts  and  the  eyes  of  his  affectionate  and  admiring 


INTRODUCTION.  X.XX1 

countrymen.  If  he  himself  were  capable  of  imagining 
all  that  belonged  to  this  mighty  subject — were  he  even 
able  to  give  utterance  to  all  that  as  a  friend,  as  a  man. 
and  as  a  Scotsman,  he  must  feel  regarding  it,  yet  know- 
ing, as  he  well  did,  that  this  illustrious  individual  was  not 
more  distinguished  for  his  towering  talents,  than  for  those 
feelings  which  rendered  such  allusions  ungrateful  to  him- 
self, however  sparingly  introduced,  he  would,  on  that  ac- 
count, still  refrain  from  doing  that  which  would  otherwise 
be  no  less  pleasing  to  him  than  to  his  audience.  But 
this  his  Lordship  hoped  he  would  be  allowed  to  say,  (his 
auditors  would  not  pardon  him  were  he  to  say  less,)  we 
owe  to  him,  as  a  people,  a  large  and  heavy  debt  of 
gratitude.  He  it  is  who  has  opened  to  foreigners  the 
grand  and  characteristic  beauties  of  our  country.  It  is 
to  him  that  we  owe  that  our  gallant  ancestors  and  the 
struggles  of  our  illustrious  patriots — who  fought  and  bled 
in  order  to  obtain  and  secure  that  independence  and  that 
liberty  we  now  enjoy — have  obtained  a  fame  no  longer 
confined  to  the  boundaries  of  a  remote  and  comparatively 
obscure  nation,  and  who  has  called  down  upon  their 
struggles  for  glory  and  freedom  the  admiration  of  foreign 
countries.  He  it  is  who  has  conferred  a  new  reputation 
on  our  national  character,  and  bestowed  on  Scotland  an 
imperishable  name,  were  it  only  by  her  having  given 
birth  to  himself.  (Loud  and  rapturous  applause.) 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  certainly  did  not  think  that,  in 
coming  here  to-day,  he  would  have  the  task  of  acknowl- 
edging, before  three  hundred  gentlemen,  a  secret  which, 
considering  that  it  was  communicated  to  more  than  twenty 
people,  Iwd  been  remarkably  well  kept.  He  was  now 
before  the  bar  of  his  country,  and  might  be  understood 
to  be  on  trial  before  Lord  Meadowbank  as  an  offender  ; 
yet  he  was  sure  that  every  impartial  jury  would  bring  in 
a  verdict  of  Not  Proven.  He  did  not  now  think  it 
necessary  to  enter  into  the  reasons  of  his  long  silence 
Perhaps  caprice  might  have  a  considerable  share  in  it 
He  had  now  to  say,  however,  that  the  merits  of  these 
ivoiks,  if  they  had  any,  and  their  faults,  were  entirely 


KXX11  APPENDIX    TO 

imputable  to  himself.  (Long  and  loud  cheering.)  He 
was  afraid  to  think  on  what  he  had  done.  "  Look  on't 
again  I  dare  not."  He  had  thus  far  unbosomed  him- 
self, and  he  knew  that  it  would  be  reported  to  the  public. 
He  meant,  then,  seriously  to  state,  that  when  he  said  he 
was  the  author,  he  was  the  total  and  undivided  author. 
With  the  exception  of  quotations,  there  was  not  a  single 
word  that  was  not  derived  from  himself,  or  suggested  in 
the  course  of  his  reading.  The  wand  was  now  broken, 
and  the  book  buried.  You  will  allow  me  further  to  say, 
with  Prospero,  it  is  your  breath  that  has  filled  my  sails, 
and  to  crave  one  single  toast  in  the  capacity  of  the  author 
of  these  novels  ;  and  he  would  dedicate  a  bumper  to  the 
health  of  one  who  has  represented  some  of  those  charac- 
ters, of  which  he  had  endeavoured  to  give  the  skeleton,  with 
a  degree  of  liveliness  which  rendered  him  grateful.  He 
would  propose  the  health  of  his  friend  Bailie  Nicol 
Jarvie,  (loud  applause) — and  he  was  sure,  that  when  the 
author  of  Waverley  and  Rob  Roy  drinks  to  Nicol  Jarvie,  it 
would  be  received  with  that  degree  of  applause  to  which 
that  gentleman  has  always  been  accustomed,  and  that  they 
would  take  care  that  on  the  present  occasion  it  should  be 
PRODIGIOUS  !  (Long  and  vehement  applause.) 

Mr.  MACKAY,  who  here  spoke  with  great  humour  in 
the  character  of  Bailie  Jarvie. — My  conscience  !  My 
worthy  father  the  deacon  could  not  have  believed  that 
his  son  could  hae  had  sic  a  compliment  paid  to  him  by 
the  Great  Unknown  ! 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. — The  Small  Known  now,  Mr. 
Bailie. 

Mr.  MACKAY. — He  had  been  long  identified  with  the 
Bailie,  and  he  was  vain  of  the  cognomen  which  he  had 
now  worn  for  eight  years  ;  and  he  questioned  if  any  of 
his  brethren  in  the  Council  had  given  such  universal 
satisfaction.  (Loud  laughter  and  applause.)  Before  he 
sat  down,  he  begged  to  propose  "  the  Lord  Provost  and 
the  City  of  Edinburgh." 

Sir  WALTFR  SCOTT  apo  ogized  for  the  absence  of  the 
Lord  Provost,  who  had  gone  to  London  on  public  business. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXill 

Tune — "  Within  a  mile  of  Edinburgh  town." 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  gave,  "  The  Duke  of  Wellington 
and  the  army." 

Glee — "  How  merrily  we  live." 

"  Lord  Melville  and  the  Navy,  that  fought  till  they 
left  nobody  to  fight  with,  like  an  arch  sportsman  who 
clears  all  and  goes  after  the  game." 

Mr.  PAT.  ROBERTSON. — They  had  heard  this  evening 
a  toast,  which  had  been  received  with  intense  delight, 
which  will  be  published  in  every  newspaper,  and  will  be 
hailed  with  joy  by  all  Europe.  He  had  one  toast  as- 
signed him  which  he  had  great  pleasure  in  giving.  He 
was  sure  that  the  stage  had  in  all  ages  a  great  effect  on 
the  morals  and  manners  of  the  people.  It  was  very  de- 
sirable that  the  stage  should  be  well  regulated  ;  and  there 
was  no  criterion  by  which  its  regulation  could  be  better 
determined  than  by  the  moral  character  and  personal 
respectability  of  the  performers.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  stern  moralists  who  objected  to  the  Theatre.  The 
most  fastidious  moralist  could  not  possibly  apprehend  am 
injury  from  the  stage  of  Edinburgh,  as  it  was  present!) 
managed,  and  so  long  as  it  was  adorned  by  that  illustrious 
individual,  Mrs  Henry  Siddons,  whose  public  exhibitions 
were  not  more  remarkable  for  feminine  grace  and  delica- 
cy, than  was  her  private  character  for  every  virtue  which 
could  be  admired  in  domestic  life.  He  would  conclude 
with  reciting  a  few  words  from  Shakspeare,  in  a  spirit 
not  of  contradiction  to  those  stern  moralists  who  disliked 
the  Theatre,  but  of  meekness  : — "  Good  my  lord,  will 
you  see  the  players  well  bestowed  ?  do  you  hear,  let 
them  be  well  used,  for  they  are  the  abstract  and  brief 
chronicles  of  the  time."  He  then  gave  "  Mrs.  Henry 
Siddons,  and  success  to  the  Theatre-Royal  of  Edin- 
burgh." 

Mr.  MURRAY. — Gentlemen,  I  rise  to  return  thanks  for 
the  honour  you  have  done  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  doing  which 
I  am  somewhat  difficulted,  from  the  extreme  delicacy 
which  attends  a  brother's  expatiating  upon  a  sister's  claims 
to  honours  publicly  paid — (hear,  hear) — yet,  Gentlemen, 
524 


XXXJV  APPENDIX    TO 

your  kindness  emboldens  me  to  say,  that  were  I  to  give 
utterance  to  all  a  brother's  feelings,  I  should  not  exagge- 
rate those  claims.  (Loud  applause.)  1  therefore,  Gen- 
tlemen, thank  you  most  cordially  for  the  honour  you 
have  done  her,  and  shall  now  request  permission  to  make 
an  observation  on  the  establishment  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatrical  Fund.  Mr.  Mackay  has  done  Mrs.  Henry 
Siddons  and  myself  the  honour  to  ascribe  the  establish- 
ment to  us  ;  but  no,  Gentlemen,  it  owes  its  origin  to  a 
higher  source — the  publication  of  the  novel  of  Rob  Roy 
• — the  unprecented  success  of  the  opera  adapted  from 
that  popular  production.  (Hear,  hear.)  It  was  that 
success  which  relieved  the  Edinburgh  Theatre  from  its 
difficulties,  and  enabled  Mrs.  Siddons  to  carry  into  effect 
the  establishment  of  a  fund  she  had  long  desired,  but 
was  prevented  from  effecting,  from  the  unsettled  state  of 
her  theatrical  concerns.  I  therefore  hope  that,  in  future 
years,  when  the  aged  and  infirm  actor  derives  relief  from 
this  fund,  he  will,  in  the  language  of  the  gallant  High- 
lander. "  Cast  his  eye  to  good  old  Scotland,  and  not  for- 
get Rob  Roy."  (Loud  applause.) 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  here  stated,  that  Mrs.  Siddons 
wanted  the  means  but  not  the  will  of  beginning  the  The- 
atrical Fund.  He  here  alluded  to  the  great  merits  of  Mr. 
Murray's  management,  and  to  his  merits  as  an  actor, 
which  were  of  the  first  order,  and  of  which  every  person 
who  attends  the  Theatre  must  be  sensible  ;  and  after  al- 
luding to  the  embarrassments  with  which  the  Theatre 
had  been  at  one  period  threatened,  he  concluded  by  giv- 
ing the  health  of  Mr.  Murray,  which  was  drunk  with 
three  times  three. 

Mr.  MURRAY. — Gentlemen,  I  wish  I  could  believe, 
that,  in  any  degree,  I  merited  the  compliments  with 
which  it  has  pleased  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  preface  the  pro- 
posal of  my  health,  or  the  very  flattering  manner  in  which 
you  have  done  me  the  honour  to  receive  it.  The  appro- 
bation of  such  an  assembly  is  most  gratifying  to  me,  and 
might  encourage  feelings  of  vanity,  were  not  such  feel- 
ings crushed  by  my  conviction,  that  no  man  holding  the 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV 

situation  I  have  so  long  held  in  Edinburgh,  could  have 
failed,  placed  in  the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  I 
have  been  placed.  Gentlemen,  I  shall  not  insult  your 
good  taste  by  eulogiums  upon  your  judgment  or  kindly 
feeling  ;  though  to  the  first  I  owe  any  improvement  J 
may  have  made  as  an  actor,  and  certainly  my  success  as 
a  Manager  to  the  second.  (Applause.)  When,  upon 
the  death  of  my  dear  brother  the  late  Mr.  Siddons,  it 
was  proposed  that  I  should  undertake  the  management  of 
the  Edinburgh  Theatre,  I  confess  I  drew  back,  doubting 
my  capability  to  free  it  from  the  load  of  debt  and  diffi- 
culty with  which  it  was  surrounded.  In  this  state  of 
anxiety,  I  solicited  the  advice  of  one  who  had  ever  hon- 
oured me  with  his  kindest  regard,  and  whose  name  no  mem- 
ber of  my  profession  can  pronounce  without  feelings  of 
the  deepest  respect  and  gratitude — I  allude  to  the  late 
Mr.  John  Kemble.  (Great  applause.)  To  him  I  ap- 
plied ;  and  with  the  repetition  of  his  advice  I  shall  cease 
to  trespass  upon  your  time — (Hear,  hear.) — "  My  dear 
William,  fear  not ;  integrity  and  assiduity  must  prove 
an  overmatch  for  all  difficulty  ;  and  though  I  approve 
your  not  indulging  a  vain  confidence  in  your  own  ability, 
and  viewing  with  respectful  apprehension  the  judgment 
of  the  audience  you  have  to  act  before,  yet  be  assured 
that  judgment  will  ever  be  tempered  by  the  feeling  that 
you  are  acting  for  the  widow  and  the  fatherless."  (Loud 
applause.)  Gentlemen,  those  words  have  never  passed 
from  my  mind  ;  and  I  feel  convinced  that  you  have  par- 
doned my  many  errors,  from  the  feeling  that  I  was  striv- 
ing for  the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  (Long  and  enthu- 
siastic applause  followed  Mr.  Murray's  address.) 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  gave  the  health  of  the  Stewards 
Mr.  VANDF.NHOFF. — Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen, 
the  honour  conferred  upon  the  Stewards,  in  the  very  flat- 
tering compliment  you  have  just  paid  us,  calls  forth  our 
warmest  acknowledgments.  In  tendering  you  our  thanks 
for  the  approbation  you  have  been  pleased  to  express  of 
sur  humble  exertions,  I  would  beg  leave  to  advert  to  the 
jause  in  which  we  have  been  engaged.  Yet,  surround 


XXXVI  APPENDIX    TO 

ed  as  I  am  by  the  genius — the  eloquence  of  this  enlight- 
ened city,  I  cannot  but  feel  the  presumption  which  ven- 
tures to  address  you  on  so  interesting  a  subject.  Accus- 
tomed to  speak  in  the  language  of  others,  I  feel  quite  at 
a  loss  for  terms  wherein  to  clothe  the  sentiments  excited 
by  the  present  occasion.  (Applause.)  The  nature  01 
the  Institution  which  has  sought  your  fostering  patronage, 
and  the  objects  which  it  contemplates,  have  been  fully 
explained  to  you.  But,  gentlemen,  the  relief  which  it 
proposes  is  not  a  gratuitous  relief — but  to  be  purchased 
by  the  individual  contribution  of  its  members  towards 
the  general  good.  This  Fund  lends  no  encouragement 
to  idleness  or  improvidence  ;  but  it  offers  an  opportunity 
to  prudence,  in  vigour  and  youth,  to  make  provision 
against  the  evening  of  life  and  its  attendant  infirmity.  A 
period  is  fixed,  at  which  we  admit  the  plea  of  age  as  an 
exemption  from  professional  labour.  It  is  painful  to  be- 
hold the  veteran  on  the  stage  (compelled  by  necessity) 
contending  against  physical  decay,  mocking  the  joyous- 
ness  of  mirth  with  the  feebleness  of  age,  when  the  ener- 
gies decline,  when  the  memory  fails,  and  "  the  big  manly 
voice,  turning  again  towards  childish  treble,  pipes  and 
whistles  in  the  sound."  We  would  remove  him  from 
the  mimic  scene,  where  fiction  constitutes  the  charm  ;  we 
would  not  view  old  age  caricaturing  itself.  (Applause.) 
But  as  our  means  may  be  found,  in  time  of  need,  inade- 
quate to  the  fulfilment  of  our  wishes — fearful  of  raising 
expectations,  which  we  may  be  unable  to  gratify — de- 
sirous not  "  to  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  the  ear,  and 
break  it  to  the  hope" — we  have  presumed  to  court  the 
assistance  of  the  friends  of  the  drama  to  strengthen  our 
infant  institution.  Our  appeal  has  been  successful,  be- 
yond our  most  sanguine  expectations.  The  distinguished 
patronage  conferred  on  us  by  your  presence  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  the  substantial  support  which  your  benevolence 
has  so  liberally  afforded  to  our  institution,  must  impress 
every  member  of  the  Fund  with  the  most  grateful  senti- 
ments— sentiments  which  no  language  can  express,  no 
time  obliterate.  (Applause.)  I  will  not  trespass  longer 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXVII 

on  your  attention.  I  would  the  task  of  acknowledging 
our  obligation  had  fallen  into  abler  hands.  (Hear,  hear.) 
In  the  name  of  the  Stewards,  I  most  respectfully  and 
cordially  thank  you  for  the  honour  you  have  done  us, 
which  greatly  overpays  our  poor  endeavours.  (Ap- 
plause.) 

[This  speech,  though  rather  inadequately  reported, 
was  one  of  the  best  delivered  on  this  occasion.  That  it 
was  creditable  to  Mr.  Vandenhoff's  taste  and  feelings,  the 
preceding  sketch  will  show ;  but  how  much  it  was  so, 
it  does  not  show.] 

Mr.  J.  CAY  gave  Professor  Wilson  and  the  University 
of  Edinburgh,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  brightest  or- 
naments. 

Lord  MEADOWBANK,  after  a  suitable  eulogium,  gave 
the  Earl  of  Fife,  which  was  drunk  with  three  times 
three. 

Earl  FIFE  expressed  his  high  gratification  at  the  honour 
conferred  on  him.  He  intimated  his  approbation  of  the 
institution,  and  his  readiness  to  promote  its  success  by 
every  means  in  his  power.  He  concluded  with  giving 
the  health  of  the  Company  of  Edinburgh. 

Mr.  JONES,  on  rising  to  return  thanks,  being  received 
with  considerable  applause,  said  he  was  truly  grateful 
for  the  kind  encouragement  he  had  experienced,  but  the 
novelty  of  the  situation  in  which  he  now  was,  renewed 
all  the  feelings  he  experienced  when  he  first  saw  him- 
self announced  in  the  bills  as  a  young  gentleman,  being 
his  first  appearance  on  any  stage.  (Laughter  and  ap- 
plause.) Although  in  the  presence  of  those  whose  in- 
dulgence had,  in  another  sphere,  so  often  shielded  him 
from  the  penalties  of  inability,  he  was  unable  to  execute 
the  task  which  had  so  unexpectedly  devolved  upon  him 
in  behalf  of  his  brethren  and  himself.  He  therefore 
begged  the  company  to  imagine  all  that  grateful  hearts 
could  prompt  the  most  eloquent  to  utter,  and  that  would 
be  a  copy  of  their  feelings.  (Applause.)  He  bepged 
to  trespass  another  moment  on  their  attention,  lor  the 

VOL.      I. 


XXXV111  APPENDIX    TO 

purpose  of  expressing  the  thanks  of  the  members  of  the 
Fund  to  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Edinburgh  Professional 
Society  of  Musicians,  who,  finding  that  this  meeting  was 
appointed  to  take  place  on  the  same  evening  with  their 
concert,  had  in  the  handsomest  manner  agreed  to  post- 
pone it.  Although  it  was  his  duty  thus  to  preface  the 
toast  he  had  to  propose,  he  was  certain  the  meeting  re- 
quired no  farther  inducement  than  the  recollection  of  the 
pleasure  the  exertions  of  those  gentlemen  had  often 
afforded  them  within  those  walls,  to  join  heartily  in 
drinking  "  Health  and  prosperity  to  the  Edinburgh  Pro- 
fessional Society  of  Musicians."  (Applause.) 

Mr.  PAT.  ROBERTSON  proposed  "  the  health  of  Mr. 
Jeffrey,"  whose  absence  was  owing  to  indisposition.  The 
public  was  well  aware  that  he  was  the  most  distinguished 
advocate  at  the  bar  ;  he  was  likewise  distinguished  for 
the  kindness,  frankness,  and  cordial  manner  in  which  he 
communicated  with  the  junior  members  of  the  profession, 
to  the  esteem  of  whom  his  splendid  talents  would  always 
entitle  him. 

Mr.  J.  MACONOCHIE  gave  "  the  health  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  senior — the  most  distinguished  ornament  of  the 
stage." 

Sir  W.  SCOTT  said,  that  if  any  thing  could  reconcile 
him  to  old  age,  it  was  the  reflection  that  he  had  seen  the 
rising  as  well  as  the  setting  sun  of  Mrs.  Siddons.  He 
remembered  well  their  breakfasting  near  to  the  theatre — 
waiting  the  whole  day — the  crushing  at  the  doors  at  six 
o'clock — and  their  going  in  and  counting  their  ringers 
till  seven  o'clock.  But  the  very  first  step — the  very  first 
word  which  she  uttered,  was  sufficient  to  overpay  him 
for  all  his  labours.  The  house  was  literally  electrified  ; 
and  it  was  only  from  witnessing  the  effects  of  her  genius, 
that  he  could  guess  to  what  a  pitch  theatrical  excellence 
jould  be  carried.  Those  young  gentlemen  who  have 
only  seen  the  setting  sun  of  this  distinguished  performer, 
beautiful  and  serene  as  that  was,  must  give  us  old  fellows, 
who  have  seen  its  rise  and  its  meridian,  leave  to  hold  our 
heads  a  little  higher. 


INTRODUCTION.  XJtXIX 

Mr.  DUNDAS  gave  "  The  memory  of  Home,  the  author 
of  Douglas." 

Mr.  iNfACKAY  here  announced  that  the  suhscriptiori  foi 
the  night  amounted  to  £280  ;  and  he  expressed  grati- 
tude for  this  substantial  proof  of  their  kindness.  [We 
are  happy  to  state  that  subscriptions  have  since  flowet' 
in  very  liberally.] 

Mr.  MACKAY  here  entertained  the  company  with  a  pa- 
thetic  song. 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  apologized  for  having  so  long  for- 
gotten their  native  land.  He  would  now  give  Scotland, 
the  Land  of  Cakes.  He  would  give  every  river,  every 
loch,  every  hill,  from  Tweed  to  Johnnie  Groat's  house  — 
every  lass  in  her  cottage  and  countess  in  her  castle  ;  and 
may  her  sons  stand  by  her,  as  their  fathers  did  before 
them,  and  he  who  would  not  drink  a  bumper  to  his  toast, 
may  he  never  drink  whisky  more  ! 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  here  gave  Lord  Meadowbank,  who 
returned  thanks. 

Mr  H.  G.  BKLL  said,  that  he  should  not  have  ven- 
tured to  intrude  himself  upon  the  attention  of  the  assem- 
bly, did  he  not  feel  confident,  that  the  toast  he  begged 
to  have  the  honour  to  propose,  would  make  amends  for 
the  very  imperfect  manner  in  which  he  might  express  his 
sentiments  regarding  it.  It  had  been  said,  that  notwith- 
standing the  mental  supremacy  of  the  present  age,  not- 
withstanding that  the  page  of  our  history  was  studded 
with  names  destined  also  for  the  page  of  immortality, — 
that  the  genius  of  Shakspeare  was  extinct,  and  the  foun- 
tain of  his  inspiration  dried  up.  It  might  be  that  these 
observations  were  unfortunately  correct,  or  it  might  be 
that  we  were  bewildered  with  a  name,  not  disappointed 
of  the  reality, — for  though  Shakspeare  had  brought  a 
Hamlel,  an  Othello,  and  a  Macbeth,  an  Ariel,  a  Juliet, 
and  a  Rosalind,  upon  the  stage,  were  there  not  au  hors 
living  who  had  brought  as  varied,  as  exquisitely  painted, 
and  as  undying  a  range  of  characters  into  our  hearts  ? 
The  shape  of  the  mere  mould  into  which  genius  poured 
it?  golden  treasures  was  surely  a  matter  of  little  moment, 


X)  APPENDIX    TO 

— let  it  be  called  a  Tragedy,  a  Comedy,  or  a  Waverley 
Novel.  But  even  among  the  dramatic  authors  of  the 
present  day,  he  was  unwilling  to  allow  that  there  was  a 
great  and  palpable  decline  from  the  glory  of  preceding 
ages,  and  his  toast  alone  would  bear  him  out  in  denying 
the  truth  of  the  proposition.  After  eulogizing  the  names 
of  Baillie,  Byron,  Coleridge,  Maturin,  and  others,  he 
begged  to  have  the  honour  of  proposing  the  health  of 
James  Sheridan  Knowles. 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. — Gentlemen,  1  crave  a  bumper 
all  over.  The  last  toast  reminds  me  of  a  neglect  of 
duty.  Unaccustomed  to  a  public  duty  of  this  kind,  errors 
in  conducting  the  ceremonial  of  it  may  be  excused, 
and  omissions  pardoned.  Perhaps  I  have  made  one  or 
two  omissions  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  for  which 
1  trust  you  will  grant  me  your  pardon  and  indulgence. 
One  thing  in  particular  I  have  omitted,  and  1  would  now 
wish  to  make  amends  for  it,  by  a  libation  of  reverence 
and  respect  to  the  memory  of  SHAKSPEARE.  He  was  a 
man  of  universal  genius,  and  from  a  period  soon  after  his 
own  era  to  the  present  day,  he  has  been  universally  idol- 
ized. When  I  come  to  his  honoured  name,  I  am  like 
the  sick  man  who  hung  up  his  crutches  at  the  shrine,  and 
was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  did  not  walk  better  than 
before.  It  is  indeed  difficult,  gentlemen,  to  compare  him 
to  any  other  individual.  The  only  one  to  whom  I  can 
at  all  compare  him,  is  the  wonderful  Arabian  dervise,  who 
dived  into  the  body  of  each,  and  in  this  way  became  fa- 
miliar with  the  thoughts  and  secrets  of  their  hearts,  lie 
was  a  man  of  obscure  origin,  and,  as  a  player,  limited  in 
his  acquirements,  but  he  was  born  evidently  with  a  uni- 
versal genius.  His  eyes  glanced  at  all  the  varied  aspects 
of  life,  and  his  fancy  portrayed  with  equal  talents  the 
king  on  the  throne,  and  the  clown  who  crackles  his  chest- 
nuts at  a  Christmas  fire.  Whatever  note  he  takes,  he 
strikes  it  just  and  true,  and  awakens  a  cones  ponding 
chord  in  our  own  bosoms.  Gentlemen,  I  propose  "  The 
memory  of  William  Shakspeare/' 

Glee, — "Lightly  tread,  'tis  hallowed  ground" 


INTRODUCTION.  xi 

After  the  glee,  Sir  Walter  rose,  and  begged  to  propose 
as  a  toast  the  health  of  a  lady,  whose  living  merit  is  not 
a  little  honourable  to  Scotland.  The  toast  (said  he)  is 
also  flattering  to  the  national  vanity  of  a  Scotchman,  as 
the  lady  whom  I  intend  to  propose  is  a  native  of  this 
country.  From  the  public  her  works  have  met  with  the 
most  favourable  reception.  One  piece  of  hers,  in  par- 
ticular, was  often  acted  here  of  late  years,  and  gave 
pleasure  of  no  mean  kind  to  many  brilliant  and  fashiona- 
ble audiences.  In  her  private  character  she  (he  begged 
leave  to  say)  is  as  remarkable,  as  in  a  public  sense  she  is 
for  her  genius.  In  short,  he  would  in  one  word  name — 
"  Joanna  Baillie." 

This  health  being  drunk,  Mr.  Thome  was  called  on 
for  a  song,  and  sung,  with  great  taste  and  feeling,  "  The 
Anchor's  weighed." 

W.  MENZIES,  Esq.,  Advocate,  rose  to  propose  the 
health  of  a  gentleman  for  many  years  connected  at  inter- 
vals with  the  dramatic  art  in  Scotland.  Whether  we 
look  at  the  range  of  characters  he  performs,  or  at  the  ca- 
pacity which  he  evinces  in  executing  those  which  he  un- 
dertakes, he  is  equally  to  be  admired.  In  all  his  parts 
lie  is  unrivalled.  The  individual  to  whom  he  alluded  is 
(said  he)  well  known  to  the  gentlemen  present,  in  the 
characters  of  Malvolio,  Lord  Ogleby,  and  the  Green 
Man  ;  and,  in  addition  to  his  other  qualities,  he  merits, 
for  his  perfection  in  these  characters,  the  grateful  sense 
of  this  meeting.  He  would  wish,  in  the  first  place,  to 
drink  his  health  as  an  actor ;  but  he  was  not  less  estimable 
in  domestic  life,  and  as  a  private  gentleman  ;  and  when 
he  announced  him  as  one  whom  the  Chairman  had  honour- 
ed with  his  friendship,  he  was  sure  that  all  present  would 
cordially  join  him  in  drinking  "  The  health  of  Mr.  Terry." 

Mr.  WILLIAM  ALLAN,  banker,  said,  that  he  did  not 
rise  with  the  intention  of  making  a  speech.  He  merely 
wished  to  contribute  in  a  few  words  to  the  mirth  of  trie 
evening — an  evening  which  certainly  had  not  passed  off 
without  some  blunders.  It  had  been  understood — al 
least  he  had  learnt  or  supposed,  from  the  expressions  of 


xf.i 


APPENDIX    TO 


Mr.  Pntchard — that  it  would  be  sufficient  to  put  a  paper, 
with  the  name  of  the  contributor,  into  the  liox,  and  that 
the  gentleman  thus  contributing  would  be  called  on  for 
the  money  next  morning.  He,  for  his  part,  had  committed 
a  blunder,  but  it  might  serve  as  a  caution  to  those  who 
may  be  present  at  the  dinner  of  next  year.  He  had 
merely  put  in  his  name,  written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  with- 
out the  money.  But  he  would  recommend  that,  as  some 
of  the  gentlemen  might  be  in  the  same  situation,  the  box 
should  be  again  sent  round,  and  he  was  confident  that 
they,  as  well  as  he,  would  redeem  their  error. 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  said,  that  the  meeting  was  some- 
what in  the  situation  of  Mrs.  Anne  Page,  who  had  £300 
and  possibilities.  We  have  already  got,  said  he,  £280, 
but  I  should  like,  I  confess,  to  have  the  £300.  He 
would  gratify  himself  by  proposing  the  health  of  an  hon- 
ourable person,  the  Lord  Chief  Baron,  whom  England 
has  sent  to  us,  and  connecting  with  it  that  of  his  "  yoke- 
fellow on  the  bench,"  as  Shakspeare  says,  Mr.  Baron 
Clerk — The  Court  of  Exchequer. 

Mr.  Baron  CLERK  regretted  the  absence  of  his  learned 
brother.  None,  he  was  sure,  could  be  more  generous  in 
his  nature,  or  more  ready  to  help  a  Scottish  purpose. 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. — There  is  one  who  ought  to  be 
remembered  on  this  occasion.  He  is,  indeed,  well  enti- 
tled to  our  grateful  recollection — one,  in  short,  to  whom 
the  drama  in  this  city  owes  much.  He  succeeded,  not 
without  trouble,  and  perhaps  at  some  considerable  sacri- 
fice, in  establishing  a  theatre.  The  younger  part  of  the 
company  may  not  recollect  the  theatre  to  which  I  allude  ; 
but  there  are  some  who  with  me  may  remember  by  name 
a  place  called  Carrubber's  Close.  There  Allan  Ram- 
say established  his  little  theatre.  His  own  pastoral  was 
not  fit  for  the  stage,  but  it  has  its  admirers  in  those  who 
love  the  Doric  language  in  which  it  is  written  ;  and  it  is 
not  without  merits  of  a  very  peculiar  kind.  But,  laying 
aside  all  considerations  of  his  literary  merit,  Allan  was  a 
good  jovial  honest  fellow,  who  could  crack  a  bottle  with 
the  best. — The  memory  of  Allan  Ramsav, 


INTRODUCTION. 


xliii 


Mr.  MURRAY,  on  being  requested,  sung,  "  'Twas  merry 
in  the  hall,"  and  at  the  conclusion  was  greeted  with  re- 
peated rounds  of  applause. 

Mr.  JONES. — One  omission  I  conceive  has  been  made. 
The  cause  of  the  fund  has  been  ably  advocated,  but  it  is 
still  susceptible,  in  my  opinion,  of  an  additional  charm-- 
Without the  smile  from  partial  beauty  won, 
Oh,  what  were  man  ? — a  world  without  a  sun  ! 

And  there  would  not  be  a  darker  spot  in  poetry  than 
would  be  the  corner  in  Shakspeare  Square,  if,  like  its  fel- 
low, the  Register  Office,  the  Theatre  were  deserted  by 
the  ladies.  They  are,  in  fact,  our  most  attractive  stars. 
— "  The  Patronesses  of  the  Theatre — the  Ladies  of  the 
City  of  Edinburgh."  This  toast  I  ask  leave  to  drink 
with  all  the  honours  which  conviviality  can  confer. 

Mr.  PATRICK  ROBERTSON  would  be  the  last  man 
willingly  to  introduce  any  topic  calculated  to  interrupt 
the  harmony  of  the  evening ;  yet  he  felt  himself  tread- 
ing upon  ticklish  ground  when  he  approached  the  region 
of  the  Nor'  Loch.  He  assured  the  company,  however, 
that  he  was  not  about  to  enter  on  the  subject  of  the  Im- 
provement bill.  They  all  knew,  that  if  the  public  were 
unanimous — if  the  consent  of  all  parties  were  obtained — 
if  the  rights  and  interests  of  every  body  were  therein 
attended  to,  saved,  reserved,  respected,  and  excepted — 
if  every  body  agreed  to  it — and  finally,  a  most  essential 
point — if  nobody  opposed  it — then,  and  in  that  case,  and 
provided  also,  that  due  intimation  were  given — the  bill 
in  question  might  pass — would  pass — or  might,  could, 
would,  or  should  pass — all  expenses  being  defrayed.— 
(Laughter.) — He  was  the  advocate  of  neither  champion, 
and  would  neither  avail  himself  of  the  absence  of  the 
Right  Hon.  the  Lord  Provost,  nor  take  advantage  of  the 
non-appearance  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Cockburn. — (Laughter.) 
— But  in  the  midst  of  these  civic  broils,  there  had  been 
elicited  a  ray  of  hope,  that,  at  some  future  period,  in 
Hereford  Park,  or  some  other  place,  if  all  parties  were 
2onsulted  and  satisfied,  and  if  intimation  were  duly  made 
a  the  Kirk  doors  of  all  the  parishes  in  Scotland,  in  terms 


APPKXDIX    TO 

of  the  statute  in  th?.t  behalf  provided — the  people  of 
Edinburgh  might  by  possibility  get  a  new  theatre. — 
(Cheers  and  laughter.) — But  wherever  the  belligerent 
powers  might  be  pleased  to  set  down  this  new  theatre, 
he  was  sure  they  all  hoped  to  meet  the  Old  Company 
in  it.  He  should  therefore  propose — "  Better  accom- 
modation to  the  Old  Company  in  the  new  theatre,  site 
unknown." — Mr.  Robertson's  speech  was  most  humor- 
ously given,  and  he  sat  down  amidst  loud  cheers  and 
laughter. 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT. — Wherever  the  new  theatre  is 
built,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  large.  There  are  two  errors 
which  we  commonly  commit — the  one  arising  from  our 
'pride,  the  other  from  our  poverty.  If  there  are  twelve 
plans,  it  is  odds  but  the  largest,  without  any  regard  to 
comfort,  or  an  eye  to  the  probable  expense,  is  adopted. 
There  was  the  College  projected  on  this  scale,  and  un- 
dertaken in  the  same  manner,  and  who  shall  see  the  end 
of  it  ?  It  has  been  building  all  my  life,  and  may  proba- 
bly last  during  the  lives  of  my  children,  and  my  chil- 
dren's children.  Let  not  the  same  prophetic  hymn  be 
sung,  when  we  commence  a  new  theatre,  which  was  per- 
formed on  the  occasion  of  laying  the  foundation  stone  of 
a  certain  edifice,  "  behold  the  endless  work  begun." 
Play -going  folks  should  attend  somewhat  to  convenience. 
The  new  theatre  should,  in  the  first  place,  be  such  as 
may  be  finished  in  eighteen  months  or  two  years  ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  it  should  be  one  in  which  we  can 
hear  our  old  friends  with  comfort.  It  is  better  that  a 
moderate-sized  house  should  be  crowded  now  and  then, 
than  to  have  a  large  Theatre  with  benches  continually 
empty,  to  the  discouragement  of  the  actors,  and  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  spectators. — (Applause.) — He  then  com- 
mented in  flattering  terms  on  the  genius  of  Mackenzie 
and  his  private  worth,  and  concluded  by  proposing  "  the 
health  of  Henry  Mackenzie,  Esq." 

Immediately  afterwards  he  said  :  Gentlemen, — It  is 
now  wearing  late,  and  I  shah  request  permission  to  re- 
tiro.  Like  Partridge  I  may  say,  "  non  sum  quails  eram" 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

At  my  time  of  day,  I  can  agree  with  Lord  Ogilvie  as  to 
his  rheumatism,  and  say,  "  There's  a  twinge."  I  hope, 
therefore,  you  will  excuse  me  for  leaving  the  chair. — • 
(The  worthy  Baronet  then  retired  amidst  long,  loud,  and 
rapturous  cheering.) 

Mr.  PATRICK  ROBERTSON  was  inmi  called  to  the  chair 
by  common  acclarr.cxt.oi;. 

Gentlemen,  said  Mr.  ROBERTSON,  1  take  the  liberty 
of  asking  you  to  fill  a  bumper  to  the  very  brim.  There 
is  not  one  of  us  who  will  not  remember,  while  he  lives, 
being  present  at  this  day's  festival,  and  the  declaration 
made  this  night  by  the  gentleman  who  has  just  left  the 
chair.  That  declaration  has  rent  the  veil  from  the  features 
of  the  Great  Unknown — a  name  which  must  now  merge 
in  the  name  of  the  Great  Known.  It  will  be  henceforth 
coupled  with  the  name  of  SCOTT,  which  will  become 
familiar  like  a  household  word.  We  have  heard  the  con- 
fession from  his  own  immortal  lips — (cheering) — and  we 
cannot  dwell  with  too  much,  or  too  fervent  praise,  on  the 
merits  of  the  greatest  man  whom  Scotland  has  produced. 

After  which,  several  other  toasts  were  given,  and  Mr. 
Robertson  left  the  room  about  half-past  «leven.  A  few 
choice  spirits,  however,  rallied  round  Captain  Broadhead 
of  the  7th  hussars,  who  was  called  to  the  chair,  and  the 
festivity  was  prolonged  till  an  early  hour  on  Saturday 
morning. 

The  band  of  the  Theatre  occupied  the  gallery,  and 
that  of  the  7th  hussars  the  end  of  the  room,  opposite 
the  chair,  whose  performances  were  greatly  admired.  It 
is  but  justice  to  Mr.  Gibb  to  state,  that  the  dinner  was 
very  handsome  (though  slowly  served  in)  and  the  wines 
good  The  attention  of  the  stewards  was  exemplary. 
Mr.  Murray  and  Mr.  Vandenhoff,  with  great  good  taste, 
attended  on  Sir  Walter  Scott's  right  and  left,  and  we 
know  that  ho  has  expressed  himself  much  gratified  by 
their  anxious  politeness  and  sedulity. 

VOL.  I. 


CHRONICLES 


THE  CANON  GATE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MR.  CHRYSTAI.,  CROFTANGRY's   ACCOUNT  OF   HIMSELF. 
Sic  itur  ad  astra. 

"  THIS  is  the  path  to  heaven."  Such  is  the  ancient 
moito  attached  to  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  Canongate, 
and  which  is  inscribed,  with  greater  or  less  propriety,  upon 
all  the  public  buildings,  from  the  church  to  the  pillory,  in 
the  ancient  quarter  of  Edinburgh,  which  bears,  or  rathei 
once  bore,  the  same  relation  to  the  Good  Town  that 
Westminster  does  to  London,  being  still  possessed  of  the 
palace  of  the  sovereign,  as  it  formerly  was  dignified  by 
the  residence  of  the  principal  nobility  and  gentry.  I 
may,  therefore,  with  some  propriety,  put  the  same  motto 
at  the  head  of  the  literary  undertaking  by  which  1  hopu 
to  illustrate  the  hitherto  undistinguished  name  of  Chrystal 
Croftangry. 

The  public  may  desire  to  know  something  of  an  authoi 
who  pitches  at  such  height  his  ambitious  expectations. 
The  gentle  reader,  therefore — for  1  am  much  of  Captain 
Bobadil's  humour,  and  could  to  no  other  extend  mysel! 
so  far — the  gentle  reader,  then,  will  be  pleased  to  undcr-> 


16  CHRONICLES    OF 

stand,  that  I  am  a  Scottish  gentleman  of  the  old  school, 
with  a  fortune,  temper,  and  person,  rather  the  worse  foi 
wear.  I  have  known  the  world  for  these  forty  years 
having  written  myjelf  man  nearly  sin;e  that  period — and 
I  do  not  think  it  is  much  mended.  But  this  is  an  opinion 
which  1  keep  to  myself  when  I  am  am-ung  younger  folk, 
for  I  recollect,  in  my  youth,  quizzing  tne  Sexagenarians 
who  carried  back  their  ideas  of  a  perfect  state  of  society 
to  the  days  of  laced  coats  and  triple  ruffles,  and  some  of 
them  to  the  blood  and  blows  of  the  Forty-five  :  There- 
fore I  am  cautious  in  exercising  the  right  of  censorship, 
which  is  supposed  to  be  acquired  by  men  arrived  at,  or 
approaching,  the  mysterious  period  of  life,  when  the 
numbers  of  seven  and  nine  multiplied  into  each  other, 
form  what  sages  have  termed  the  Grand  Climacteric. 

Of  the  earlier  part  of  my  life  it  is  only  necessary  to 
say,  that  I  swept  the  boards  of  the  Parliament-House 
with  the  skirts  of  my  gown  for  the  usual  number  of  years 
during  which  young  Lairds  were  in  my  time  expected  to 
keep  term — got  no  fees — laughed,  and  made  others 
laugh — drank  claret  at  Bayle's,  Fortune's,  and  Walker's 
— and  eat  oysters  in  the  Covenant  Close. 

.Becoming  my  own  master,  I  flung  my  gown  at  the  bar- 
keeper, and  commenced  gay  man  on  my  own  account. 
In  Edinburgh,  I  ran  into  all  the  expensive  society  which 
the  place  then  afforded.  When  I  went  to  my  house  in 
the  shire  of  Lanark,  1  emulated  to  the  utmost  the  expen- 
ses of  men  of  large  fortune,  and  had  my  hunters,  my  first- 
rate  pointers,  my  game-cocks,  and  feeders.  I  can  more 
easily  forgive  myself  for  these  follies,  than  for  others  of  a 
>li!l  more  blameable  kind,  so  indifferently  cloaked  over 
that  my  poor  mother  thought  herself  obliged  to  leave  my 
habitation,  and  betake  herself  to  a  small  inconvenient 
iointure-house,  which  she  occupied  till  her  death.  I 
think,  however,  I  was  not  exclusively  to  blame  in  this 
separation,  and  I  believe  my  mother  afterwards  condemn- 
ed herself  for  being  too  hasty.  Thank  God,  the  adver- 
sity which  destroyed  the  means  of  continuing  my  dissipa- 
tion, restored  me  to  the  affections  of  my  surviving  parent. 


THE    CANONGATE.  17 

My  course  of  life  could  not  last.  I  ran  too  fast  to  run 
long  ,  and  when  I  would  have  checked  my  career,  1  was 
perhaps  too  near  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  Some  mis- 
haps 1  prepared  by  my  own  folly,  others  came  upon  me 
unawares.  1  put  my  estate  out  to  nurse  to  a  fat  man  ol 
business,  who  smothered  the  babe  he  should  have  brought 
back  to  me  in  health  and  strength,  and,  in  dispute  with 
this  honest  gentleman,  1  found,  like  a  skilful  general,  that 
my  position  would  be  most  judiciously  assumed  by  taking 
ft  up  near  the  Abbey  of  Holyrood.9  It  was  then  I  first 
became  acquainted  with  the  quarter,  which  my  little 
work  will,  I  hope,  render  immortal,  and  grew  familiar 
with  those  magnificent  wilds,  through  which  the  Kings  o' 
Scotland  once  chased  the  dark-brown  deer,  but  which 
were  chiefly  recommended  to  me  in  those  days,  by  their 
being  inaccessible  to  those  metaphysical  persons,  whom 
the  law  of  the  neighbouring  country  terms  John  Doe  and 
Richard  Roe.  In  short,  the  precincts  of  the  palace  are 
now  best  known  as  being  a  place  of  refuge  at  any  time 
from  all  pursuit  for  civil  debt. 

Dire  was  the  strife  betwixt  my  quondam  doer  and  my- 
self; during  which  my  motions  were  circumscribed,  like 
those  of  some  conjured  demon,  within  a  circle,  which, 
"  beginning  at  the  northern  gate  of  the  King's  Park, 
thence  running  northways,  is  bounded  on  the  left  by  the 
King's  garden-wall,  and  the  gutter,  or  kennel,  in  a  line 
wherewith  it  crosses  the  High  Street  to  the  Water-gate, 
and  passing  through  the  sewer,  is  bounded  by  the  walls  of 
the  Tennis  court  and  Physic-garden,  &ic.  It  then  follows 
the  wall  of  the  church-yard,  joins  the  northwest  wall  of 
St.  Ann's  Yards,  and  going  east  to  the  clack  mill-house, 
urns  southward  to  the  turnstile  in  the  King's  park-wall, 
a*id  includes  the  whole  King's  Park  within  the  Sanctuary." 

These  limits,  which  I  abridge  from  the  accurate  Mail- 
land,  once  marked  the  Girth,  or  Asylum,  belonging  to 
the  Abbey  of  Holyrood,  and  which,  being  still  an  appen- 
dage to  the  royal  palace,  ha?  retained  the  privilege  of  an 
asy-um  for  civil  debt.  One  would  think  the  space  suffi- 
'iently  extensive  for  a  man  to  stretch  his  limbs  in  as 
525 


18  CHRONICLES    OF 

besides  a  reasonable  proportion  of  level  ground,  (con- 
sidering that  the  scene  lies  in  Scotland,)  it  includes  within 
its  precincts  the  mountain  of  Arthur's  Seat,  and  the  rocks 
and  pasture  land  called  Salisbury  Crags.  But  yet  it  is 
inexpressible  how,  after  a  certain  time  had  elapsed,  1  used 
to  long  for  Sunday,  which  permitted  me  to  extend  my 
walk  without  limitation.  During  the  oilier  six  days  of 
the  week  1  felt  a  sickness  of  heart,  which,  but  for  the 
fpeedy  approach  of  the  hebdomadal  day  of  liberty,!  could 
hardly  have  endured.  1  experienced  the  impatience  of 
a  mastiff,  who  tugs  in  vain  to  extend  the  limits  which  his 
chain  permits. 

Day  after  day  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  kennel 
which  divides  the  Sanctuary  from  the  unprivileged  part 
of  the  Canongate  ;  and  though  the  month  was  July,  and 
the  scene  the  old  town  of  Edinburgh,  1  preferred  it 
to  the  fresh  air  and  verdant  turf  which  1  might  have  en- 
joyed in  the  King's  Park,  or  to  the  cool  and  solemn  gloom 
of  the  portico  which  surrounds  the  palace.  To  an  indif- 
ferent person  either  side  of  the  gutter  would  have  seemed 
much  the  same — the  houses  equally  mean,  the  children 
as  ragged  and  dirty,  the  carmen  as  brutal,  the  whole  form- 
ing the  same  picture  of  low  life  in  a  deserted  and  impov- 
erished quarter  of  a  large  city.  But  to  me  the  gutter, 
or  kennel,  was  what  the  brook  Kidron  was  to  Shiinei  ; 
death  was  denounced  against  him  should  he  cross  it, 
doubtless  because  it  was  known  to  his  wisdom  who  pro- 
nounced the  doom,  that  from  the  time  the  crossing  the 
stream  was  debarred,  the  devoted  man's  desire  to  transgress 
the  precept  would  become  irresistible,  and  he  would  be 
sure  to  draw  down  on  his  head  the  penalty  which  he  had 
already  justly  incurred  by  cursing  the  anointed  of  God. 
For  my  part,  all  Elysium  seemed  opening  on  the  other  side 
of  the  kenne.,  and  I  envied  the  little  blackguards,  who, 
stopping  the  current  with  their  little  dam -dikes  of  mud,  had 
a  right  to  stand  on  either  side  of  the  nasty  puddle  which 
best  pleased  them.  I  was  so  childish  aseven  to  make  an  oc- 
casional excursion  across,  were  it  only  fora  few  yards^aw/ 
felt  the  triumph  of  a  schoolboy,  who,  trespassing  in  auorch 


THE    CANON GATE.  1 

ard,  hurries  back  again  with  a  fluttering  sensation  of  joy 
and  terror,  betwixt  the  pleasure  of  having  execujed  his 
purpose,  and  the  fear  of  being  taken  or  discovered. 

I  have  sometimes  asked  myself,  what  1  should  have 
clone  in  case  of  actual  imprisonment,  since  I  could  no! 
bear  without  impatience  a  restriction  which  is  compar- 
atively a  mere  trifle  ;  but  I  really  could  never  answer  the 
question  to  my  own  satisfaction.  I  have  all  my  life  hated 
those  treacherous  expedients  called  mezzo-termini,  and 
it  is  possible  with  this  disposition  1  might  have  endured 
more  patiently  an  absolute  privation  of  liberty,  than  the 
more  modified  restrictions  to  which  my  residence  in  the 
Sanctuary  at  this  period  subjected  me.  If,  however,  the 
feelings  1  then  experienced  were  to  increase  in  intensity 
according  to  the  difference  between  a  jail  and  my  actual 
condition,  I  must  have  hanged  myself,  or  pined  to  death  ; 
there  could  have  been  no  other  alternative. 

Amongst  many  companions  who  forgot  and  neglected  me 
of  course,  when  my  difficulties  seemed  to  be  inextricable, 
1  had  one  true  friend  ;  and  that  friend  was  a  barrister, 
who  knew  the  laws  of  his  country  well,  and,  tracing  them 
up  to  the  spirit  of  equity  and  justice  in  which  they  origin- 
ate, had  repeatedly  prevented,  by  his  benevolent  and  manly 
exertions,  the  triumphs  of  selfish  cunning  over  simplicity 
and  folly.  He  undertook  my  cause,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  solicitor  of  a  character  similar  to  his  own.  My  quon- 
dam doer  had  esconced  himself  chin-deep  among  legal 
trenches,  hornworks,  and  covered  ways ;  but  my  two 
protectors  shelled  him  out  of  his  defences,  and  I  was  at 
length  a  free  man,  at  liberty  to  go  or  stay  wheresoever 
my  rnind  listed. 

I  left  my  lodging  as  hastily  as  if  it  had  been  a  pest- 
house  ;  I  did  not  even  stop  to  receive  some  change  that 
was  due  to  me  on  settling  with  my  landlady,  and  I  saw 
the  poor  woman  stand  at  her  door  looking  after  my  pre- 
cipitate flight,  and  shaking  her  head  as  she  wrapped  the 
silver  which  she  was  counting  for  rne  in  a  separate  piece 
of  paper,  apart  from  the  store  in  her  own  moleskin  purse 
A.n  honest  Highlandwoman  was  Janet  MacEvoy,  and 


20  CHRONICLES    OF 

deserved  a  greater  remuneration,  had  I  possessed  thd 
power  of  bestowing  it.  But  rny  eagerness  of  delight  was 
too  extreme  to  pause  for  explanation  with  Janet.  On  I 
pushed  through  ihe  groups  of  children,  of  whose  sports  I 
had  been  so  often  a  lazy  lounging  spectator.  I  sprung 
over  the  gutter  as  if  it  had  been  the  fatal  Styx,  and  I  a 
ghost,  which,  eluding  Pluto's  authority,  was  making  its 
escape  from  Limbo  lake.  My  friend  had  difficulty  to 
restrain  me  from  running  like  a  madman  up  the  street ; 
and  in  spite  of  his  kindness  and  hospitality,  which  sooth- 
ed me  for  a  day  or  two,  I  was  not  quite  happy  until  1 
found  myself  aboard  of  a  Leith  smack,  and,  standing 
down  the  Frith  with  a  fair  wind,  might  snap  rny  ringers 
at  the  retreating  outline  of  Arthur's  Seat,  to  the  vicinity 
of  which  I  had  been  so  long  confined. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  trace  my  future  progress  through 
life.  I  had  extricated  myself,  or  rather  had  been  freed 
by  my  friends,  from  the  brambles  and  thickets  of  the  law, 
but,  as  befell  the  sheep  in  the  fable,  a  great  part  of  my 
fleece  was  left  behind  me.  Something  remained,  how- 
ever ;  I  was  in  the  season  for  exertion,  and,  as  my  good 
mother  used  to  say,  there  was  always  life  for  living  folk. 
Stern  necessity  gave  my  manhood  that  prudence  which 
my  youth  was  a  stranger  to.  I  faced  danger,  1  endured 
fatigue,  I  sought  foreign  climates,  and  proved  that  I  belong- 
ed to  the  nation  which  is  proverbially  patient  of  labour 
and  prodigal  of  life.  Independence,  like  liberty  to  Vir- 
gil's shepherd,  came  late,  but  came  at  last,  with  no  great 
affluence  in  its  train,  but  bringing  enough  to  support  a 
decent  appearance  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  and  to  induce 
cousins  to  be  civil,  and  gossips  to  say,  "  I  wonder  who 
old  Croft  will  make  his  heir  9  he  must  have  picked  up 
something,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  prove  more 
•han  folk  think  of." 

My  first  impulse  when  I  returned  home  was  to  rush  to 
the  house  of  my  benefactor,  the  only  man  who  had  in  my 
distress  interested  himself  in  my  behalf.  He  was  a  snuff 
taker,  and  it  had  been  the  pride  of  my  heart  to  save  tht 
ipsa  corpora  d'  the  first  score  of  guineas  I  could  hoard 


THE    CANOXGA1E.  21 

and  to  have  them  converted  into  as  tasteful  a  snufF-box  a« 
Rundell  and  Bridge  could  devise.  This  I  had  thrust  foi 
security  into  the  breast  of  my  waistcoat,  while,  impatient 
to  transfer  it  to  the  person  for  whom  it  was  destined,  I 
hastened  to  his  house  in  Brown's  square.  When  the  front 
of  the  house  became  visible,  a  feeling  of  alarm  checked 
me.  I  had  been  long  absent  from  Scotland,  my  friend 
was  some  years  older  than  I ;  he  might  have  been  called 
to  the  congregation  of  the  just.  I  paused,  and  gazed  on 
the  house,  as  if  I  had  hoped  to  form  some  conjecture  from 
the  outward  appearance  concerning  the  state  of  the  fam- 
ily within.  I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  the  lower  win- 
dows being  all  closed  and  no  one  stirring,  my  sinister 
forebodings  were  rather  strengthened.  1  regretted  now 
that  I  had  not  made  inquiry  before  I  left  the  inn  where  I 
alighted  from  the  mail-coach.  But  it  was  too  late  ;  so 
I  hurried  on,  eager  to  know  the  best  or  the  worst  which 
I  could  learn. 

The  brass-plate  bearing  my  friend's  name  and  desig- 
nation was  still  on  the  door,  and  when  it  was  opened,  the 
old  domestic  appeared  a  good  deal  older  I  thought  than 
he  ought  naturally  to  have  looked,  considering  the  period 
of  my  absence.  "  Is  Mr.  Sommerville  at  home  ?"  said  L 
pressing  forward. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  John,  placing  himself  in  opposition  to 
my  entrance,  "  he  is  at  home,  but " 

"  But  he  is  not  in,"  said  I.  "  I  remember  your  phrase 
of  old,  John.  Come,  I  will  step  into  his  room,  and  leave 
a  line  for  him." 

John  was  obviously  embarrassed  by  my  familiarity.  I 
was  some  one,  he  saw,  whom  he  ought  to  recollect,  at 
the  same  time  it  was  evident  he  remembered  nothing 
about  me. 

"  Ay,  sir,  my  master  is  in,  and  in  his  own  room,  but — *' 

I  would  not  hear  him  out,  but  passed  before  him  towards 
the  well-known  apartment.  A  young  lady  came  out  01 
/he  room  a  litt.e  disturbed,  as  it  seemed,  and  said,  "  John, 
what  is  the  matter  ?" 


22  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  A  gentleman,  Miss  Nelly,  that  insists  on  seeing  my 
master." 

"  A  very  old  and  deeply  indebted  friend,''  said  I, 
''  that  ventures  to  press  myself  on  my  much-respected 
benefactor  on  my  return  from  abroad." 

"  Alas,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  my  uncle  would  be  happy 
lo  see  you,  but" 

At  this  moment,  something  was  heard  within  the  apart- 
ment like  the  falling  of  a  plate,  or  glass,  and  immediately 
after  my  friend's  voice  called  angrily  and  eagerly  for  h  ;s 
niece.  She  entered  the  room  hastily,  and  so  did  I.  But 
it  was  to  see  a  spectacle,  compared  with  which  that  ot 
my  benefactor  stretched  on  his  bier  would  have  been  a 
happy  one. 

The  easy-chair  rilled  with  cushions,  the  extended 
limbs  swathed  in  flannel,  the  wide  wrapping-gown  and 
night-cap,  showed  illness  ;  but  the  dimmed  eye,  once  so 
replete  with  living  fire,  the  blabber  lip,  whose  dilation  and 
compression  used  to  give  such  character  to  his  animated 
countenance, — the  stammering  tongue,  that  once  poured 
forth  such  floods  of  masculine  eloquence,  and  had  often 
swayed  the  opinion  of  the  sages  whom  lie  addressed, — 
all  these  sad  symptoms  evinced  that  my  friend  was  in  the 
melancholy  condition  of  those  in  whom  the  principle  ol 
animal  life  has  unfortunately  survived  that  of  mental  in- 
telligence. He  gazed  a  moment  at  me,  but  then  seemed 
insensible  of  my  presence,  and  went  on — he,  once  the 
most  courteous  and  well-bred — to  babble  unintelligible 
but  violent  reproaches  against  his  niece  and  servant,  be- 
cause he  himself  had  dropped  a  tea-cup  in  attempting  to 
place  it  on  a  table  at  his  elbow.  His  eyes  caught  a 
momentary  fire  from  his  irritation  ;  but  he  struggled  in 
vain  for  words  to  express  himself  adequately,  as,  looking 
from  his  servant  to  his  niece,  and  then  to  the  table,  he 
laboured  to  explain  that  they  had  placed  it  (though  it 
touched  his  chair)  at  too  great  a  distance  from  him. 

The  young  person,  who  had  naturally  a  resigned  Ma- 
donna-like expression  of  countenance,  listened  to  his  im- 
patient chiding  with  the  most  humble  submission,  checked 


THE    CANONGATE. 


23 


the  servant,  whose  less  delicate  feelings  would  have  en- 
tered on  his  justification,  and  gradually,  by  the  sweet  and 
soft  tone  of  her  voice,  soothed  to  rest  the  spirit  of  cause- 
less irritation. 

She  then  cast  a  look  towards  me,  which  expressed. 
"  You  see  all  that  remains  of  him  whom  you  call  friend." 
It  seemed  also  to  say,  "Your  longer  presence  here  can 
only  be  distressing  to  us  all." 

"  Forgive  me,  young  lady,"  I  said,  as  well  as  tears 
would  permit;  "  I  am  a  person  deeply  obliged  to  your 
uncle.  My  name  is  Croftangry." 

"  Lord  !  and  that  I  should  not  hae  minded  ye,  Maister 
Croftangry,"  said  the  servant.  "  Ay,  I  mind  my  master 
had  rnuckle  fash  about  your  job.  I  hae  heard  him  order 
in  fresh  candles  as  midnight  chappit,  and  till't  again.  In- 
deed, ye  had  aye  his  gude  word,  Mr.  Croftangry,  for  a' 
that  folks  said  about  you." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  John,"  said  the  lady,  somewhat 
angrily  ;  and  then  continued,  addressing  herself  to  me, 
"  I  am  sure,  sir,  yru  must  be  sorry  to  see  my  uncle  in  this 
state.  I  know  you  are  his  friend.  I  have  heard  him 
mention  your  name,  and  wonder  he  never  heard  from 
you." — A  new  cut  this,  and  it  went  to  my  heart.  But 
she  continued,  "  I  really  do  not  know  if  it  is  right  that 
any  should — If  my  uncle  should  know  you,  which  I  scarce 
think  possible,  he  would  be  much  affected,  and  the  doctor 

says  that  any  agitation But  here  comes  Dr.  to 

give  his  own  opinion. 

Dr. entered.  I  had  left  him  a  middle-aged  man  ; 

he  was  now  an  elderly  one  ;  but  still  the  same  benevo- 
lent Samaritan,  who  went  about  doing  good,  and  thought 
the  blessings  of  the  poor  as  good  a  recompense  of  his  pro- 
fessional skill  as  the  gold  of  the  rich. 

He  looked  at  me  with  surprise,  but  the  young  _ady 
said  a  word  01  introduction,  and  1,  who  was  known  to  the 
doctor  formerly,  hastened  to  complete  it.  He  recollected 
me  perfectly,  and  intimated  that  he  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  reasons  I  nad  for  being  deeply  interested  in  the 
^at";  (  f  his  patient.  He  gave  me  a  very  melancholy  ac- 


24  CHRONICLES    OP 

nount  of  my  poor  friend,  drawing  me  for  that  purpose  a 
.ittle  apart  from  the  lady.  "  The  light  of  life,"  he  said. 
"  was  trembling  in  the  socket ;  he  scarcely  expected  it 
would  ever  leap  up  even  into  a  momentary  flash,  but 
more  was  impossible."  He  then  stepped  towards  his 
patient,  and  put  some  questions,  to  which  the  poor  invalid, 
though  he  seemed  to  recognize  the  friendly  and  familiar 
voice,  answered  only  in  a  faltering  and  uncertain  manner. 
The  young  lady,  in  her  turn,  had  drawn  back  when 
the  doctor  approached  his  patient.  "  You  see  how  it  is 
with  him,"  said  the  doctor,  addressing  me  ;  "  I  have 
heard  our  poor  friend,  in  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  his 
pleadings,  give  a  description  of  this  very  disease,  which 
he  compared  to  the  tortures  inflicted  by  Mezentius,  when 
he  chained  the  dead  to  the  living.  The  soul,  he  said,  is 
imprisoned  in  its  dungeon  of  flesh,  and  though  retaining 
its  natural  and  unalienable  properties,  can  no  more  exert 
them  than  the  captive  inclosed  within  a  prison-house  can 
act  as  a  free  agent.  Alas  !  to  see  him,  who  could  so  well 
describe  what  this  malady  was  in  others,  a  prey  himself 
to  its  infirmities  !  I  shall  never  forget  the  solemn  tone  of 
expression  with  which  he  summed  up  the  incapacities  of 
the  paralytic, — the  deafened  ear,  the  dimmed  eye,  the 
crippled  limbs, — in  the  noble  words  of  Juvenal — 


Membrorum  dainno  major,  dementia,  quse  nee 
Nomina  servorum,  nee  vultum  agnoscit  amici.'  " 

As  the  physician  repeated  these  lines,  a  flash  of  intel- 
ligence seemed  to  revive  in  the  invalid's  eye — sunk  again 
— again  struggled,  and  he  spoke  more  intelligibly  than 
before,  and  in  the  tone  of  one  eager  to  say  something 
which  he  felt  would  escape  him  unless  said  instantly. 
"  A  question  of  death-bed,  a  question  of  death-bed,  doc- 
tor— a  reduction  ex  capite  lecti — Withering  against  Will- 
bus — about  the  morbus  sonticus.  1  pleaded  the  cause 
for  the  pursuer — I,  and — and — Why,  I  shall  forget  my 
own  name — I,  and — he  that  was  the  wittiest  and  the  best 
umoured  man  living " 


THK    CANONGATE.  25 

The  description  enabled  the  doctor  to  fill  up  the  blank, 
find  the  patient  joyfully  repeated  the  name  suggested 

'  Ay,  ay,"  he  said,  "just  he — Harry — poor  Harry" 

The  light  in  his  eye  died  away,  and  he  sunk  back  in  his 
easy-chair. 

"  You  have  now  seen  more  of  our  poor  friend  Mr. 
Croftangry,"  said  the  physician,  "  than  I  dared  venture 
to  promise  you  ;  and  now  I  must  take  my  professional 
authority  on  me,  and  ask  you  to  retire.  Miss  Sommer- 
ville  will,  I  am  sure,  let  you  know  if  a  moment  should  by 
any  chance  occur  when  her  uncle  can  see  you." 

What  could  I  do  *?  I  gave  my  card  to  the  young  lady, 
and,  taking  my  offering  from  my  bosom — "  If  my  poor 
friend,"  I  said,  with  accents  as  broken  almost  as  his  own, 
"  should  ask  where  this  came  from,  name  me  ;  and  say 
from  the  most  obliged  and  most  grateful  man  alive.  Say, 
the  gold  of  which  it  is  composed  was  saved  by  grains  at 
a  time,  and  was  hoarded  with  as  much  avarice  as  ever 
was  a  miser's  : — to  bring  it  here  I  have  come  a  thousand 
miles,  and  now,  alas,  I  find  him  thus  !" 

1  laid  the  box  on  the  table,  and  was  retiring  with  a  lin- 
gering step.  The  eye  of  the  invalid  was  caught  by  it, 
as  that  of  a  child  by  a  glittering  toy,  and  with  infantine 
impatience  he  faltered  out  inquiries  of  his  niece.  With 
gentle  mildness  she  repeated  again  and  again  who  1  was, 
and  why  I  came,  &,c.  1  was  about  to  turn,  and  hasten 
from  a  scene  so  painful,  when  the  physician  laid  his  Innd 
on  my  sleeve — "  Stop,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  change." 

There  was  indeed,  and  a  marked  one.  A  faint  glow 
spread  over  his  pallid  features — they  seemed  to  gain  the 
look  of  intelligence  which  belongs  to  vitality — his  eye 
once  more  kindled — his  lip  coloured — and  drawing  him- 
self up  out  of  the  listless  posture  he  had  hitherto  main- 
tained, he  rose  without  assistance.  The  doctor  and  the 
servant  ran  to  give  him  their  support.  He  waved  them 
aside,  and  they  were  contented  to  place  themselves  in 
such  a  position  behind  as  might  ensure  against  accident, 
VOL.  i. 


26  CHRONICLES    OF 

should  his  newly-acquired  strength  decay  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  revived. 

"  My  dear  Croftangry,"  he  said,  in  the  lone  of  kind- 
ness of  other  days,  "  1  am  glad  to  see  you  returned — 
You  find  me  but  poorly — but  my  little  niece  here  and 

Dr. are  very  kind — God  bless  you,  my   dear 

friend  !  we  shall  not  meet  again  till  we  meet  in  a  better 
world." 

I  pressed  his  extended  hand  to  my  lips — I  pressed  it 
to  my  bosom — I  would  fain  have  flung  myself  on  rny 
knees  ;  but  the  doctor,  leaving  the  patient  to  the  young 
lady  and  the  servant,  who  wheeled  forward  his  chair,  and 
were  replacing  him  in  it,  hurried  me  out  of  the  room 
"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  ;  you 
have  seen  our  poor  invalid  more  like  his  former  self  than 
he  has  been  for  months,  or  than  he  may  be  perhaps  again 
until  all  is  over.  The  whole  Faculty  could  not  have  as- 
sured such  an  interval — I  must  see  whether  anything  can 
be  derived  from  it  to  improve  the  general  health — Pray, 
begone."  The  last  argument  hurried  me  from  the  spot, 
agitated  by  a  crowd  of  feelings,  all  of  them  painful. 

When  I  had  overcome  the  shock  of  this  great  disap- 
pointment, I  renewed  gradually  my  acquaintance  with  one 
or  two  old  companions,  who,  though  of  infinitely  less  in- 
terest to  my  feelings  than  my  unfortunate  friend,  served  to 
relieve  the  pressure  of  actual  solitude,  and  who  were  not 
perhaps  the  less  open  to  my  advances,  that  I  was  a  bach- 
elor somewhat  stricken  in  years,  newly  arrived  from  for- 
eign parts,  and  certainly  independent,  if  not  wealthy. 

1  was  considered  as  a  tolerable  subject  of  speculator 
by  some,  and  I  could  not  be  burdensome  to  any  :  1  was 
therefore,  according  to  the  ordinary  rule  of  Edinburgh 
hospitality,  a  welcome  guest  in  several  respectable  fami- 
lies ;  but  I  found  no  one  who  could  replace  the  loss  I  had 
sustained  in  my  best  friend  and  benefactor.  I  wanted 
something  more  than  mere  companionship  could  give  me, 
and  wher  ?  was  I  to  look  for  it  *? — among  the  scattered 


THE    CANOJVGATE.  27 

remnants  of  those  that  had  been  my  gay  friends  of  yore  ? 
— alas  ! 

Many  a  lad  I  loved  was  dead, 
And  many  a  lass  grown  old. 

Besides,  all  community  of  ties  between  us  had  ceased  to 
exist,  and  such  of  former  friends  as  were  still  in  the 
world,  held  their  life  in  a  different  tenor  from  whatl  did. 

Some  had  become  misers,  and  were  as  eager  in  saving 
sixpence  as  ever  they  had  been  in  spending  a  guinea. 
Some  had  turned  agriculturists — their  talk  was  of  oxen, 
and  they  were  only  fit  companions  for  graziers.  Some 
stuck  to  cards,  and  though  no  longer  deep  gamblers,  rather 
played  small  game  than  sat  out.  This  1  particularly  de- 
spised. The  strong  impulse  of  gaming,  alas  !  I  had  felt 
in  my  time — it  is  as  intense  as  it  is  criminal  ;  but  it  pro- 
duces excitation  and  interest,  and  I  can  conceive  how  it 
should  become  a  passion  with  strong  and  powerful  minds. 
But  to  dribble  away  life  in  exchanging  bits  of  painted 
pasteboard  round  a  green  table,  for  the  piddling  concern 
of  a  few  shillings,  can  only  be  excused  in  folly  or  super- 
annuation. It  is  like  riding  on  a  rocking-horse,  where 
your  utmost  exertion  never  carries  you  a  foot  forward  ; 
it  is  a  kind  of  mental  tread-mill,  where  you  are  perpetu- 
ally climbing,  but  can  never  rise  an  inch.  From  these 
hints,  my  readers  will  perceive  I  am  incapacitated  for  one 
of  the  pleasures  of  old  age,  which,  though  not  mentioned 
by  Cicero,  is  not  the  least  frequent  resource  in  the  present 
day — the  club-room,  and  the  snug  hand  at  whist. 

To  return  to  my  old  companions  :  Some  frequented 
public  assemblies,  like  the  ghost  of  Beau  Nash,  or  any 
other  beau  of  half  a  century  back,  thrust  aside  by  titter- 
ing youth,  and  pitied  by  those  of  their  own  age.  In  fine 
some  went  into  devotion,  as  the  French  term  it,  and  others 
I  fear,  went  to  the  devil  ;  a  few  found  resources  in  sci- 
ence and  letters  ;  one  or  two  turned  philosophers  in  a 
small  way,  peeped  into  microscopes,  and  became  familiar 
wi'h  the  fashionable  experiments  of  the  day.  Some  took 
(o  reading,  and  1  was  one  of  them. 


28  CHRONICLES    OF 

Some  grains  of  repulsion  towards  the  society  around 
»o — some  painful  recollections  of  early  faults  and  follies 
— some  touch  of  displeasure  with  living  mankind,  inclin- 
ed me  rather  to  a  study  of  antiquities,  and  particularly 
those  of  my  own  country.  The  reader,  if  I  can  prevail 
on  myself  to  continue  the  present  work,  will  probably  be 
able  to  judge,  in  the  course  of  it,  whether  1  have  made 
any  useful  progress  in  the  study  of  the  olden  times. 

I  owed  this  turn  of  study,  in  part,  to  the  conversation 
of  my  kind  man  of  business,  Mr.  Fairscribe,  whom  I 
mentioned  as  having  seconded  the  efforts  of  my  invalua- 
ble friend,  in  bringing  the  cause  on  which  my  liberty  and 
the  remnant  of  my  property  depended,  to  a  favourable 
decision.  He  had  given  me  a  most  kind  reception  on  my 
return.  He  was  too  much  engaged  in  his  profession  for 
me  to  intrude  on  him  often,  and  perhaps  his  mind  was  too 
much  trammelled  with  its  details  to  permit  his  being  wil- 
lingly withdrawn  from  them.  In  short,  he  was  not  a  person 
of  my  poor  friend  Sommerville's  expanded  spirit,  and 
rather  a  lawyer  of  the  ordinary  class  of  formalists,  but  a 
most  able  and  excellent  man.  When  my  estate  was  sold, 
he  retained  some  of  the  older  title-deeds,  arguing,  from 
his  owr  feelings,  that  they  would  be  of  more  consequence 
to  the  heir  of  the  old  family  than  to  the  new  purchaser. 
And  when  I  returned  to  Edinburgh,  and  found  him  still 
in  the  exercise  of  the  profession  to  which  he  was  an  hon- 
our, he  sent  to  my  lodgings  the  old  family-bible,  which  lay 
always  on  my  father's  table,  two  or  three  other  mouldy 
volumes,  and  a  couple  of  sheep-skin  bags,  full  of  parch- 
ments and  papers,  whose  appearance  was  by  nc  means 
inviting. 

The  next  lime  I  shared  I\lr.  Fairscribe's  hospitable 
dinner,  I  failed  not  to  return  him  due  thanks  for  his  kind 
ness,  which  acknowledgment,  indeed,  I  proportioned 
-ather  to  the  idea  which  I  knew  he  entertained  of  the 
value  of  such  things,  than  to  the  interest  with  which  I 
myse  f  regarded  them.  But  the  conversation  turning  on 
my  family,  who  were  old  proprietors  in  the  Upper  Ward 
of  Clydesdale,  gradually  excited  some  interest  in  my 


THE    CAKOJVGATK.  29 

mind  ;  and  when  I  retired  to  my  solitary  parlour,  the  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  look  for  a  pedigree,  or  sort  of  history 
of  the  family,  or  House  of  Croftangry,  once  of  that  Ilk 
latterly  of  Glentanner.  The  discoveries  which  I  made 
shall  enrich  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  WHICH   MR.   CKOFTANGRY  CONTINL7ES   HIS   STORY. 

"  What's  property,  dear  Swift  ?    1  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter. 

Pope. 

"  CROFTANGRY — Croftandrew — Croftanridge — Croft- 
andgrey — for  sa  mony  wise  hath  the  name  been  spellit — 
is  weel  known  to  be  ane  house  of  grit  antiquity  ;  and  it 
is  said,  that  King  Milcolumb,  or  Malcolm,  being  the  first 
of  our  Scottish  princes  quha  removit  across  the  Firth  of 
Forth,  did  reside  and  occupy  ane  palace  at  Edinburgh, 
and  had  there  ane  valziant  man,  who  did  him  man-service, 
by  keeping  the  croft,  or  corn-land,  which  was  tilled  for 
the  convenience  of  the  King's  household,  and  was  thence 
callit  Croft-an-ri,  that  is  to  say,  the  King  his  croft ;  quhilk 
place,  though  now  coverit  with  biggings,  is  to  this  day 
called  Croftangry,  and  lyeth  near  to  the  royal  palace. 
And  whereas  that  some  of  those  who  bear  this  auld  and 
honourable  name  may  take  scorn  that  it  ariseth  from  the 
tilling  of  the  ground,  quhilk  men  account  a  slavish  occu- 
pation, yet  we  ought  to  honour  the  pleugh  and  spade, 
seeing  we  all  derive  our  being  from  our  father  Adam, 
whose  lot  it  became  to  cultivate  the  earth,  in  respect  o/ 
his  fall  and  transgression. 

"  Also  we  have  witness,  as  weel  in  holy  writt  as  ir 
profane  history,  of  the  honour  in  quhilk  husbandrie  was 
held  of  old,  and  how  prophets  have  been  taken  from  the 
pleugh,  and  great  captains  raised  up  to  defend  their  ain 

VOL,      I. 


3(J  CHRONICLES    Ot 

countries,  sic  as  Cincinnatus,  and  the  like,  who  fought  not 
the  common  enemy  with  the  less  valiancy  that  their  arms 
had  been  exercized  in  halding  the  stilts  of  the  pleugh, 
and  their  bellicose  skill  in  driving  of  yauds  and  owsen. 

"  Likewise  there  are  sindry  honourable  families,  quhilk 
are  now  of  our  native  Scottish  nobility,  and  have  clornbe 
higher  up  the  brae  of  preferment  than  what  this  house  of 
Croftangry  hath  done,  quhilk  shame  not  to  carry  in  their 
warlike  shield  and  insignia  of  dignity,  the  tools  and  imple- 
ments the  quhilk  their  first  forefathers  exercised  in  labour- 
ing the  croft-rig,  or,  as  the  poet  Virgilius  calleth  it  elo- 
quently, in  subduing  the  soil.  And  no  doubt  this  ancient 
house  of  Croftangry,  while  it  continued  to  be  called  of 
that  Ilk,  produced  many  worshipful  and  famous  patriots, 
of  quhom  I  now  pretermit  the  names  ;  it  being  my  pur- 
pose, if  God  shall  spare  me  life  for  sic  ane  pious  officiurn, 
or  duty,  to  resume  the  first  part  of  my  narrative  touching 
the  House  of  Croftangry,  when  I  can  set  down  at  length 
the  evidents,  and  historical  witness  anent  the  facts  which 
I  shall  allege,  seeing  that  words,  when  they  are  unsup- 
ported by  proofs,  are  like  seed  sown  on  the  naked  rocks 
or  like  an  house  biggit  on  the  flitting  and  faithless  sands.' 

Here  I  stopped  to  draw  breath  ;  for  the  style  of  my 
grandsire,  the  inditer  of  this  goodly  matter,  was  rather 
lengthy,  as  our  American  friends  say.  Indeed,  1  reserve 
the  rest  of  the  piece  until  I  can  obtain  admission  to  the 
Bannatyne  Club*°when  I  propose  to  throw  off  an  edition, 
limited  according  to  the  rules  of  that  erudite  Society,  with 
a  fuc-simile  of  the  manuscript,  emblazonry  of  the  family 
arms,  surrounded  by  their  quartering,  and  a  handsome 
disclamation  of  family  pride,  with  Hac  nos  novimus  esse 
nihil,  or  Vix  ea  nostra  voco. 

In  the  meantime,  to  speak  truth,  I  cannot  but  suspect, 
ihat  though  my  worthy  ancestor  puffed  vigorously  to  swell 
.ip  the  dignity  of  his  family,  we  had  never,  in  fact,  risen 
ibove  the  rank  of  middling  proprietors.  The  estate  ot 
Glentanner  came  to  us  by  the  intermarriage  of  my  ances- 
tor with  Tib  Sommeril,  termed  by  the  southrons  Sorn 
•nerville,na  daughter  of  that  noble  house,  but  I  fear  on 


THE    CANONGATE  31 

what  my  great-grandsire  calls  "  the  wrong  side  of  the 
blanket."  Her  husband,  Gilbert,  was  killed  fighiing,  a& 
the  Inquisitio  post  mortem  has  it,  "  sub  vexillo  regis,  apud 
proilium  juxta  Branxton,  LIE  Floddenfield" 

We  had  our  share  in  other  national  misfortunes — were 
forfeited,  like  Sir  John  Colville  of  the  Dale,  for  following 
our  betters  to  the  field  of  Langside  ;  and  in  the  conten- 
tious limes  of  the  last  Stuarts,  we  were  severely  fined  fo. 
harbouring  and  resetting  intercomrauned  ministers  ;  and 
narrowly  escaped  giving  a  martyr  to  the  Calendar  of  the 
Covenant,  in  the  person  of  the  father  of  our  family  his- 
torian. He  "  took  the  sheaf  from  the  mare,"  however, 
as  the  MS.  expresses  it,  and  agreed  to  accept  of  the 
terms  of  pardon  offered  by  government,  and  sign  the  bond, 
in  evidence  he  would  give  no  farther  ground  of  offence. 
My  grandsire  glosses  over  his  father's  backsliding  as 
smoothly  as  he  can,  and  comforts  himself  with  ascribing 
his  want  of  resolution  to  his  unwillingness  to  wreck  the 
ancient  name  and  family,  and  to  permit  his  lands  and  lin- 
eage to  fall  under  a  doom  of  forfeiture. 

"  And  indeed,"  said  the  venerable  compiler,  "  as,  prais- 
ed be  God,  we  seldom  meet  in  Scotland  with  these  belly- 
gods  and  voluptuaries,  whilk  are  unnatural  enough  to 
devour  their  patrimony  bequeathed  to  them  by  their  for- 
bears in  chambering  and  wantonness,  so  that  they  come, 
with  the  prodigal  son,  to  the  husks  and  the  swine-trough  : 
and  as  I  have  the  less  to  dreid  the  existence  of  such  un- 
natural Neroes  in  mine  own  family  to  devour  the  substance 
of  their  own  house  like  brute  beasts  out  of  mere  glut- 
tome  and  Epicurishnesse,  so  I  need  only  warn  mine  de- 
scendants against  over  hastily  meddling  with  the  mutations 
in  state  and  in  religion,  which  have  been  near-hand  to  the 
bringing  this  poor  house  of  Croftangry  to  perdition,  as 
we  have  shown  more  than  once.  And  albeit  I  would  not 
that  my  successors  sat  still  altogether  when  called  on  by 
their  duty  to  Kirk  and  King  ;  yet  I  would  have  them  wait 
till  stronger  and  walthier  men  than  themselves  were  up,  so 
lhat  either  they  may  have  the  better  chance  of  gstting 
through  the  day  ;  or,  failing  of  that,  the  conquering  party 


32  CHRONICLES    OF 

having  some  falter  quarry  to  live  upon,  may,  like  gorged 
hawks,  spare  the  smaller  game." 

There  was  something  in  this  conclusion  vviiich  at  first 
reading  piqued  me  extremely,  and  I  was  so  unnatural  as 
to  curse  the  whole  concern,  as  poor,  bald,  pitiful  trash,  in 
which  a  silly  old  man  was  saying  a  great  deal  about  noth- 
ing at  all.  Nay,  my  first  impression  was  to  thrust  it  into 
the  fire,  the  rather  that  it  reminded  me,  in  no  very  flat- 
tering manner,  of  the  loss  of  the  family  property,  to 
which  the  compiler  of  the  history  was  so  much  attached, 
in  the  very  manner  which  he  most  severely  reprobated. 
It  even  seemed  to  my  aggrieved  feelings,  that  his  unpre- 
scient  gaze  on  futurity,  in  which  he  could  not  anticipate 
the  folly  of  one  of  his  descendants,  who  should  throw 
away  the  whole  inheritance  in  a  few  years  of  idle  expense 
and  folly,  was  meant  as  a  personal  incivility  to  myself, 
though  written  fifty  or  sixty  years  before  1  was  born. 

A  little  reflection  made  me  ashamed  of  this  feeling  of 
impatience,  and  as  I  looked  at  the  even,  concise,  yet  trem- 
ulous hand  in  which  the  manuscript  was  written,  1  could 
not  help  thinking,  according  to  an  opinion  I  have  heard 
seriously  maintained,  that  something  of  a  man's  character 
may  be  conjectured  from  his  handwriting.  That  neat, 
but  crowded  and  constrained  small  hand,  argued  a  man 
of  a  good  conscience,  well  regulated  passions,  and,  to  use 
his  own  phrase,  an  upright  walk  in  life  ;  but  it  also  indi- 
cated narrowness  of  spirit,  inveterate  prejudice,  and  hint- 
ed at  some  degree  of  intolerance,  which,  though  not 
natural  to  the  disposition,  had  arisen  out  of  a  limited  edu- 
cation. The  passages  from  Scripture  and  the  classics, 
rather  profusely  than  happily  introduced,  and  written  in  a 
half-text  character  to  mark  their  importance,  illustrated 
that  peculiar  sort  of  pedantry  which  always  considers  the 
argument  as  gained,  if  secured  by  a  quotation.  Then  the 
flourished  capital  letters,  which  ornamented  the  com- 
mencement of  each  paragraph,  and  the  name  of  his  fam- 
ily and  of  his  ancestors,  whenever  these  occurred  in  the 
page,  do  they  not  express  forcibly  the  pride  and  sense  of 
importance  with  which  the  author  undertook  and  accom- 


THE    CANONGATE.  33 

plished  his  task  9  1  persuaded  myself,  the  whole  was  so 
complete  a  portrait  of  the  man,  that  it  would  not  have  been 
a  more  imdutiful  act  to  have  defaced  his  picture,  or  even 
to  have  disturbed  his  bones  in  his  coffin,  than  to  destroy 
his  manuscript.  1  thought,  for  a  moment,  of  presenting 
it  to  Mr.  Fairscribe  ;  but  that  confounded  passage  about 
the  prodigal  and  swine-trough — I  settled  at  last  it  was  as 
well  to  lock  it  up  in  my  own  bureau,  with  the  intention 
to  look  at  it  no  more. 

But  I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  that  the  subject  began 
to  sit  nearer  my  heart  than  I  was  aware  of,  and  I  found 
myself  repeatedly  engaged  in  reading  descriptions  of 
farms  which  were  no  longer  mine,  and  boundaries  which 
marked  the  property  of  others.  A  love  of  the  natale 
solum,  if  Swift  be  right  in  translating  these  words,  "  fam- 
ily estate,"  began  to  awaken  in  my  bosom  ;  the  recollec- 
tions of  my  own  youth  adding  little  to  it,  save  what  was 
connected  with  field-sports.  A  career  of  pleasure  is  un- 
favourable for  acquiring  a  taste  for  natural  beauty,  and 
still  more  so  for  forming  associations  of  a  sentimental  kind, 
connecting  us  with  the  inanimate  objects  around  us. 

I  had  thought  little  about  my  estate,  while  I  possessed 
and  was  wasting  it,  unless  as  affording  the  rude  materials 
out  of  which  a  certain  inferior  race  of  creatures,  called 
tenants,  were  bound  to  produce  (in  a  greater  quantity  than 
they  actually  did)  a  certain  return  called  rent,  which  was 
destined  to  supply  my  expenses.  This  was  my  general 
view  of  the  matter.  Of  particular  places,  1  recollected 
that  Garval-hill  was  a  famous  piece  of  rough  upland  pas- 
ture, for  rearing  young  colts,  and  teaching  them  to  throw 
their  feet, — that  Minion-burn  had  the  finest  yellow  trout 
in  the  country, — that  Seggycleugh  was  unequalled  for 
woodcocks, — that  Ben-gibbert-moors  afforded  excellrml 
inoorfowl-shooting,  and  that  the  clear  bubbling  fountain 
called  the  Harper's  Well,  was  the  best  recipe  in  the  world 
on  the  morning  after  a  Hard-go  with  my  neighbour  fox- 
hunters.  Still  these  ideas  recalled,  by  degrees,  pictures, 
of  which  I  had  since  learned  to  appreciate  the  merit — 
icei  es  of  silent  loneliness,  where  extensive  moors,  undu- 
526 


CHRONICLES    OF 

lating  into  wild  hills,  were  only  disturbed  by  the  whistle 
of  the  plover,  or  the  crow  of  the  heath-cock  ;  wild  ravines 
creeping  up  into  mountains,  filled  with  natural  wood,  and 
which,  when  traced  downwards  along  the  path  formed  by 
shepherds  and  nutters,  were  found  gradually  to  enlarge 
and  deepen,  as  each  formed  a  channel  to  its  own  brook, 
sometimes  bordered  by  steep  banks  of  earth,  often  with 
the  more  Yomantic  boundary  of  naked  rocks  or  cliffs, 
crested  with  oak,  mountain-ash,  and  hazel, — all  gratify- 
ing the  eye  the  more  that  the  scenery  was,  from  the  bare 
nature  of  the  country  around,  totally  unexpected. 

I  had  recollections,  too,  of  fair  and  fertile  holms,  or 
level  plains,  extending  between  the  wooded  banks  and  the 
bold  stream  of  the  Clyde,  which,  coloured  like  pure  am- 
ber, or  rather  having  the  hue  of  the  pebbles  called  Cairn- 
gorm, rushes  over  sheets  of  rock  and  beds  of  gravel, 
inspiring  a  species  of  awe  from  the  few  and  faithless  fords 
which  it  presents,  and  the  frequency  of  fatal  accidents, 
now  diminished  by  the  number  of  bridges.  These 
alluvial  holms  were  frequently  bordered  by  triple  and 
quadruple  rows  of  large  trees,  which  gracefully  mark- 
ed their  boundary,  and  dipped  their  long  arms  into 
the  foaming  stream  of  the  river. — Other  places  I  remem- 
bered, which  ha'd  been  described  by  the  old  huntsman  as 
the  lodge  of  tremendous  wild-cats,  or  the  spot  where  tra- 
dition stated  the  mighty  stag  to  have  been  brought  to  bay, 
or  where  heroes,  whose  might  was  now  as  much  forgot- 
ten, were  said  to  have  been  slain  by  surprise,  or  in  battle. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these  finished  landscapes 
became  visible  before  the  eyes  of  my  imagination,  as  the 
scenery  of  the  stage  is  disclosed  by  the  rising  of  the  cur- 
tain. I  have  said,  that  I  had  looked  upon  the  country 
around  me,  during  the  hurried  and  dissipated  period  of 
my  life,  with  the  eyes  indeed  of  my  body,  but  without 
those  of  my  understanding.  It  was  piece  by  piece,  as  a 
child  picks  out  its  lesson,  that  I  began  to  recollect  the 
beauties  of  nature  which  had  once  surrounded  me  in  the 
home  of  my  forefathers.  A  natural  taste  for  them  must 
nave  lurked  at  the  bottorn  of  my  heart,  which  awakened 


THE    CANON GATE.  35 

when  I  was  in  foreign  countries,  and  becoming  by  degrees 
a  favourite  passion,  gradually  turned  its  eyes  inwards,  and 
ransac  ked  the  neglected  stores  which  my  memory  had 
invokntarily  recorded,  and  when  excited,  exerted  herseli 
to  collect  and  to  complete. 

I  began  now  to  regret  more  bitterly  than  ever  the  hav- 
ing fooled  away  my  family  property,  the  care  and  im- 
provement of  which  I  saw  might  have  afforded  an  agree- 
able employment  for  my  leisure,  which  only  went  to  brood 
on  past  misfortunes,  and  increase  useless  repining.  "  Had 
but  a  single  farm  been  reserved,  however  small,"  said  I 
one  day  to  Mr.  Fairscribe,  "  I  should  have  had  a  place 
I  could  call  my  home,  and  something  that  J  could  call 
business." 

"  It  might  have  been  managed,"  answered  Fairscribe ; 
"  and  for  my  part,  I  inclined  to  keep  the  mansion-house, 
mains,  and  some  of  the  old  family  acres  together  ;  but 

both  Mr. and  you  were  of  opinion  that  the  money 

would  be  more  useful." 

"  True,  true,  my  good  friend,"  said  I,  "  I  was  a  fool 
then,  and  did  not  think  I  could  incline  to  be  Glentanner 
with  £.200  or  £.300  a-year,  instead  of  Glentanner  with 
as  many  thousands.  I  was  then  a  haughty,  pettish,  igno- 
rant, dissipated,  broken-down  Scotch  laird  ;  and  thinking 
rny  imaginary  consequence  altogether  ruined,  J  cared  not 
how  soon,  or  how  absolutely,  I  was  rid  of  every  thing  thai 
recalled  it  to  rny  own  memory,  or  that  of  others." 

"  And  now  it  is  like  you  have  changed  your  mind  9" 
said  Fairscribe.  "  Well,  fortune  is  apt  tocircumduce  the 
term  upon  us  ;  but  I  think  she  may  allow  you  to  revise 
your  condescendence." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  good  friend  9" 

"  Nay,"  said  Fairscribe,  "  there  is  ill  luck  in  averring 
till  one  is  sure  of  his  facts.  I  will  look  back  on  a  rile  oi 
newspapers, and  to-morrow  you  shall  hear  from  me;  come, 
help  yourself — I  have  seen  you  fill  your  glass  higher." 

"  And  shall  see  it  again,"  said  I,  pouring  out  what  re- 
mained of  our  bottle  of  claret ;  "  the  wine  is  capital,  and 
so  shall  oui  toast  be — To  vour  fireside,  mv  good  friend 


30  CHRONICLES    OF 

And   now  we  shall   go  beg  a  Scots  song  without  foreign 
graces,  from  my  little  siren  Miss  Katie" 

The  next  day  accordingly  I  received  a  parcel  from 
Mr.  Fairscribe  with  a  newspaper  enclosed,  among  the 
advertisements  of  which,  one  was  marked  with  a  cross  as 
requiring  my  attention.  I  read  to  my  surprise — 

"   DESIRABLE    ESTATE    FOR    SALE. 

•'  By  order  of  the  Lords  of  Council  and  Session,  will 
be  exposed  to  sale  in  the  New  Sessions  House  of  Edin- 
burgh, on  Wednesday  the  25th  November  18 — ,  all 
and  whole  the  lands  and  barony  of  Glentanner,  now  called 
Castle-Treddlesj  lying  in  the  Middle  Ward  of  Clydesdale, 
and  shire  of  Lanark,  with  the  teinds,  parsonage  and  vic- 
arage, fishings  in  the  Clyde,  woods,  mosses,  moors,  and 
pasturages,"  &,c.  Sic. 

The  advertisement  went  on  to  set  forth  the  advantages 
of  the  soil,  situation,  natural  beauties  and  capabilities  of 
improvement,  not  forgetting  its  being  a  freehold  estate, 
with  the  particular  polypus  capacity  of  being  sliced  up  into 
two,  three,  or,  with  a  little  assistance,  four  freehold  qual- 
ifications, and  a  hint  that  the  county  was  likely  to  be 
eagerly  contested  between  two  great  families.  The  upset 
price  at  which  "  the  said  lands  and  barony  and  others" 
were  to  be  exposed,  was  thirty  years'  purchase  of  the 
proven  rental,  which  was  about  a  fourth  more  than  the 
property  had  fetched  at  the  last  sale.  This,  which  was 
mentioned,  1  suppose  to  show  the  improvable  character 
of  the  land,  would  have  given  another  some  pain  ;  but  let 
me  speak  truth  of  myself  in  good  as  in  evil — it  pained  not 
me.  I  was  only  angry  that  Fairscribe,  who  knew  some- 
thing generally  of  the  extent  of  my  funds,  should  have 
antalized  me  by  sending  me  information  that  my  family 
oroperly  was  in  the  market,  since  he  must  have  known 
.hat  tb3  price  was  far  out  of  my  reach. 

But  a  letter  dropped  from  the  parcel  on  the  floor,  which 
attracted  my  eye,  and  explained  the  riddle.  A  client  of 
Mr  Fairsc  'ibe's,  a  monied  man,  thought  of  buying  Glen- 


TDE    CANONGVTE.  b? 

tanner,  merely  as  an  investment  of  money — it  was  ever 
unlikely  he  would  ever  see  it ;  and  so  the  price  of  the 
whole  being  some  thousand  pounds  beyond  what  cash  he 
had  on  hand,  this  accommodating  Dives  would  gladly  take 
a  partner  in  the  sale  for  any  detached  farm,  and  would 
make  no  objection  to  its  including  the  most  desirable  part 
of  the  estate  in  point  of  beauty,  provided  that  the  price 
was  made  adequate.  Mr.  Fairscribe  would  take  care  I 
was  not  imposed  on  in  the  matter,  and  said  in  his  card,  he 
believed,  if  1  really  wished  to  make  such  a  purchase,  I 
had  better  go  out  and  look  at  the  premises,  advising  me, 
at  the  same  time,  to  keep  a  strict  incognito  ;  an  advice 
somewhat  superfluous,  since  1  am  naturally  of  a  retired 
and  reserved  disposition. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MK.   CROFTANGRY,  INTER  ALIA,  REVISITS  GLENTANNER, 

Then  sing  of  stage-coaches, 
And  fear  n<>  reproaches 

For  riding  in  one  ; 
But  daily  he  jogging, 
Whilst,  whistling  and  flogging, 
Whilst,  whistling  and  flogging, 
The  coachman  drives  on. 

•  Farquhar. 

DISGUISED  in  a  grey  surtout  which  had  t>een  service, 
a  white  castor  on  my  head,  and  a  stout  Indian  cane  in  my 
hand,  the  next  week  saw  me  on  the  top  of  a  mail-coach 
driving  to  the  westward. 

I  like  mail-coaches,  and  I  hate  them.  I  like  them  for 
my  convenience,  but  I  detest  them  for  setting  the  whole 
world  a-gadding,  instead  of  sitting  quietly  still  minding 
their  own  business,  and  preserving  the  stamp  of  originality 
of  character  which  nature  or  education  may  have  impres- 

VOL.    i. 


38  CHRONICLES    OF 

sed  on  them.  Off  they  go,  jingling  against  each  other  in 
the  rattling  vehicle  till  they  have  no  more  variety  of  stamp 
in  them  than  so  many  smooth  shillings — the  same  even  in 
their  Welsh  wigs  and  great  coats,  each  without  more  in- 
dividuality than  belongs  to  a  partner  of  the  company,  as 
the  waiter  calls  them,  of  the  North  coach. 

Worthy  Mr.  Piper,  best  of  contractors  who  ever  fur- 
nished four  frampal  jades  for  public  use,  I  bless  you  when 
I  set  out  on  a  journey  myself  ;  the  neat  coaches  under 
your  contract  render  the  intercourse,  from  Johnie  Groat's 
house  to  Ladykirk  and  Cornhill  Bridge,  safe,  pleasant, 
and  cheap.  But,  Mr.  Piper,  you,  who  are  a  shrewd 
arithmetician,  did  it  never  occur  to  you  to  calculate  how 
many  fool's  heads,  which  might  have  produced  an  idea  or 
two  in  the  year,  if  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet,  get  effect- 
ually addled  by  jolting  to  and  fro  in  these  flying  chariots 
of  yours  ;  how  many  decent  countrymen  become  con- 
ceited bumpkins  after  a  cattle-show  dinner  in  the  capital, 
which  they  could  not  have  attended  save  for  your  means  : 
how  many  decent  country  parsons  return  critics  and 
spouters,  by  way  of  importing  the  newest  taste  from  Edin- 
burgh 1  And  how  will  your  conscience  answer  one  day 
for  carrying  so  many  bonny  lasses  to  barter  modesty  for 
conceit  and  levity  at  the  metropolitan  Vanity  Fair  9 

Consider,  too,  the  low  rate  to  which  you  reduce  human 
intellect.  J  do  not  believe  your  habitual  customers  have 
their  ideas  more  enlarged  thag  one  of  your  coach-horses. 
They  knows  the  road,  like  the  English  postilion,  and  they 
know  nothing  beside.  They  date,  like  the  carriers  at 
Gadshill,  from  the  death  of  John  Ostler;12 the  succession 
of  guards  forms  a  dynasty  in  their  eyes  ;  coachmen  are 
their  ministers  of  state,  and  an  upset  is  to  them  a  greater 
incident  than  a  change  of  administration.  Their  only 
point  of  interest  on  the  road  is  to  save  the  time,  and  see 
whether  the  coach  keeps  the  hour.  This  is  surely  a  mis- 
erable degradation  of  human  intellect.  Take  my  advice, 
my  good  sir,  and  disinterestedly  contrive  that  once  or  twice 
a  quarter,  your  most  dexterous  whip  shall  overturn  a 
of  these  superfluous  travellers,  in  tcrrorem  to 


THE    CANONGATE.  39 

those  who,  as  Horace  says,  "  delight  in  the  dust  raised 
by  your  chariots." 

Your  current  and  customary  mail-coach  passenger,  too 
gets  abominably  selfish,  schemes  successfully  for  the  best 
seat,  the  freshest  egg,  the  right  cut  of  the  sirloin.  The 
mode  of  travelling  is  death  to  all  the  courtesies  and  kind- 
nesses of  life,  and  goes  a  great  way  to  demoralize  the 
character,  and  cause  it  to  retrograde  to  barbarism.  You 
allow  us  excellent  dinners,  but  only  twenty  minutes  to  eat 
them  ;  and  what  is  the  consequence  *?  Basr  ful  beauty  sits 
on  the  one  side  of  us,  timid  childhood  on  t!  e  other  ;  re- 
spectable, yet  somewhat  feeble  old  age  is  placed  on  our 
front ;  and  all  require  those  acts  of  politeness  which  ought 
to  put  every  degree  upon  a  level  at  the  convivial  board. 
But  have  we  time — we  the  strong  and  active  of  the  party 
— to  perform  the  duties  of  the  table  to  the  more  retired 
and  bashful,  to  whom  these  little  attentions  are  due  9  The 
lady  should  be  pressed  to  her  chicken — the  old  man  help- 
ed to  his  favourite  and  tender  slice — the  child  to  his  tart. 
But  not  a  fraction  of  a  minute  have  we  to  bestow  on  any 
other  person  than  ourselves  ;  and  the  prut  prut — tut-tut 
of  the  guard's  discordant  note,  summons  us  to  the  coach, 
the  weaker  party  having  gone  without  their  dinner,  and 
the  able-bodied  and  active  threatened  with  indigestion 
from  having  swallowed  victuals  like  a  Lei'stershire  clown 
Dolting  bacon. 

On  the  memorable  occasion  I  am  speaking  of  I  lost  my 
breakfast,  sheerly  from  obeying  the  commands  of  a  re- 
spectable-looking old  lady,  who  once  required  me  to  ring 
the  bell,  and  another  time  to  help  the  tea-kettle.  I  have 
some  reason  to  think  she  was  literally  an  old  Stager,  who 
laughed  in  her  sleeve  at  my  complaisance  ;  so  that  I  have 
sworn  in  my  secret  soul  revenge  upon  her  sex,  and  all 
such  errant  damsels  of  whatever  age  and  degree,  whom  1 
may  encounter  in  my  travels.  I  mean  all  this  without  the 
least  ill-will  to  my  friend  the  contractor,  who,  I  think,  has 
approached  as  near  as  any  one  is  like  to  do  towards  ac- 


10 


CHRONICLES    OF 


complishing  the  modest  wish  of  the  Amatus  and  Arnata 
of  the  Peri  Bathous, 

Ye  gods,  annihilate  but  time  and  sface, 
And  make  two  lovers  happy. 

I  intend  to  give  Mr.  P.  his  full  revenge  when  I  come 
(o  discuss  the  more  recent  enormity  of  steam-boats  , 
meanwhile,  I  shall  only  say  of  both  these  modes  of  con- 
veyance, that 

There  is  no  living  with  them  or  without  them. 

1  am  perhaps  more  critical  on  the mail-coach  on 

this  particular  occasion,  that  I  did  not  meet  all  the  respect 
from  the  worshipful  company  in  his  Majesty's  carriage 
that  I  think  I  was  entitled  to.  I  must  say  it  for  myself, 
that  I  bear,  in  my  own  opinion  at  least,  not  a  vulgar  point 
about  me.  My  face  has  seen  service,  but  there  is  still  a 
good  set  of  teeth,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  quick  grey  eye, 
set  a  little  too  deep  under  the  eye-brow  ;  and  a  cue  of 
the  kind  once  called  military,  may  serve  to  show  that  my 
civil  occupations  have  been  sometimes  mixed  with  those 
of  war.  Nevertheless,  two  idle  young  fellows  in  the  ve- 
hicle, or  rather  on  the  top  of  it,  were  so  much  amused  with 
the  deliberation  which  I  used  in  ascending  to  the  same 
place  of  eminence,  that  I  thought  I  should  have  been 
obliged  to  pull  them  up  a  little.  And  I  was  in  no  good- 
humour,  at  an  unsuppressed  laugh  following  my  descent, 
when  set  down  at  the  angle,  where  a  cross  road,  striking 
off  from  the  main  one,  led  me  towards  Glentanner,  from 
which  1  was  still  nearly  five  miles  distant. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  road,  which,  preferring  ascents 
to  sloughs,  was  led  in  a  straight  line  over  height  and  hol- 
low, through  moor  and  dale.  Every  object  around  me, 
as  I  passed  them  in  succession,  reminded  me  of  old  days, 
and  at  the  same  time  formed  the  strongest  contrast  with 
them  possible.  Unattended,  on  foot,  will)  a  small  bundle  in 
my  hand,  deemed  scarce  sufficient  good  company  for  the 
two  shabby  genteels  with  whom  I  had  been  lately  perched 
on  the  top  of  a  mail-coach,  I  did  not  seem  to  be  the  same 


THE    CANONGATK.  41 

oerson  with  the  young  prodigal,  who  lived  with  the  nohlest 
Mid  gayest  in  the  land,  and  who,  thirty  years  before, 
would,  in  the  same  country,  have  been  on  the  back  of  a 
horse  that  had  been  victor  for  a  plate,  or  smoking  along 
in  his  travelling  chaise-and-four.  My  sentiments  were 
not  less  changed  than  my  condition.  I  could  quite  well 
remember,  that  my  ruling  sensation  in  the  days  of  heady 
youth,  was  a  mere  schoolboy's  eagerness  to  get  farthest 
forward  in  the  race  in  which  1  had  engaged  ;  to  drink  as 

many  bottles  as ;  to  be  thought  as  good  a  judge  of 

a  horse  as ;  to  have  the  knowing  cut  of  's 

jacket.  These  were  thy  gods,  O  Israel  ! 

Now  I  was  a  mere  looker-on  ;  seldom  an  unmoved, 
and  sometimes  an  angry  spectator,  but  still  a  spectator 
only,  of  the  pursuits  of  mankind.  I  felt  how  little  my 
opinion  was  valued  by  those  engaged  in  the  busy  turmoil, 
yet  1  exercised  it  with  the  profusion  of  an  old  lawyer  re- 
tired from  his  profession,  who  thrusts  himself  into  his 
neighbour's  affairs,  and  gives  advice  where  it  is  not  want- 
ed, merely  under  pretence  of  loving  the  crack  of  the  whip. 

1  came  amid  these  reflections  to  the  brow  of  a  hill, 
from  which  I  expected  to  see  Glentanner ;  a  modest- 
looking  yet  comfortable  house,  its  walls  covered  with  the 
most  productive  fruit  trees  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
and  screened  from  the  most  stormy  quarters  of  the  hori- 
zon by  a  deep  and  ancient  wood,  which  overhung  the 
neighbouring  hill.  The  house  was  gone  ;  a  great  part  of 
the  wood  was  felled  ;  and  instead  of  the  gentlemanlike 
mansion,  shrouded  and  embosomed  among  its  old  he- 
reditary trees,  stood  Castle-Treddles,  a  huge  lumping  foufr 
square  pile  of  freestone,  as  bare  as  my  nail,  except  for  a 
paltry  edging  of  decayed  and  lingering  exotics,  with  an 
impoverished  lawn  stretched  before  it,  which,  instead  of 
boasting  deep  green  tapestry, enamelled  with  daisies,  and 
with  crowsfoot  and  cowslips,  showed  an  extent  of  naked- 
ness, raked,  indeed,  and  levelled,  but  where  the  sown 
grasses  had  fai  ed  with  drought,  and  the  earth,  retaining 

4          VOL      I. 


CHRONICLES    OF 


its  natural  complexion,  seemed  nearly  as  brown  and  bare 
as  when  it  was  newly  dug  up. 

The  house  was  a  large  fabric,  which  pretended  to  its 
name  of  Castle  only  from  the  front  windows  being  finish- 
ed in  acute  Gothic  arches  (being,  by  the  way,  the  very 
reverse  of  the  castellated  style),  and  each  angle  graced 
with  a  turret  about  the  size  of  a  pepper-box.  In  every 
other  respect  it  resembled  a  large  town-house,  which,  like 
a  fat  burgess,  had  taken  a  walk  to  the  country  on  a  holi- 
day, and  climbed  to  the  top  of  an  eminence  to  look  around 
it.  The  bright  red  colour  of  the  freestone,  the  size  of  the 
building,  the  formality  of  its  shape,  and  awkwardness  ol 
its  position,  harmonized  as  ill  with  the  sweeping  Clyde  in 
front,  and  the  bubbling  brook  which  danced  down  on  the 
right,  as  the  fat  civic  form,  with  bushy  wig,  gold-headed 
cane,  maroon-coloured  coat,  and  mottled  silk  stockings, 
would  have  accorded  with  the  wild  and  magnificent  scene- 
ry of  Corehouse  Linn. 

I  went  up  to  the  house.  It  was  in  that  state  of  deser- 
tion which  is  perhaps  the  most  unpleasant  to  look  on,  for 
the  place  was  going  to  decay,  without  having  been  inhab- 
ited. There  were  about  the  mansion,  though  deserted, 
none  of  the  slow  mouldering  touches  of  time,  which  com- 
municate to  buildings,  as  to  the  human  frame,  a  sort  of 
reverence,  while  depriving  them  of  beauty  and  of  strength. 
The  disconcerted  schemes  of  the  Laird  of  Castle-Tred- 
dles,  had  resembled  fruit  that  becomes  decayed  without 
ever  having  ripened.  Some  windows  broken,  others 
patched,  others  blocked  up  with  deals,  gave  a  disconso- 
late air  to  all  around,  and  seemed  to  say,  "  There  Vanity 
had  purposed  to  fix  her  seat,  but  was  anticipated  *by 
Poverty." 

To  the  inside,  after  many  a  vain  summons,  T  was  at 
length  admitted  by  an  old  labourer.  The  house  contain- 
ed every  contrivance  for  luxury  and  accommodation  ;  — 
(he  kitchens  were  a  model,  and  there  were  ho'  closets  on 
the  office  staircase,  that  the  dishes  might  not  tool,  as  our 
Scottish  phrase  goes,  between  the  kitchen  and  the  hall 
Btu  instead  of  the  get  ial  smell  of  good  cheer,  these  tern 


THE    CAKONGATE.  43 

pics  of  Comus  emitted  the  clamp  odour  of  sepulchral  vaults, 
and  the  large  cabinets  oi'  cast-iron  looked  like  the  cages 
of  some  feudal  Bastille.  The  eating-room  and  drawing- 
room,  with  an  interior  boudoir,  were  magnificent  apart- 
ments, the  ceilings  fretted  and  adorned  with  stucco-work, 
which  already  was  broken  in  many  places,  and  looked  in 
others  damp  and  mouldering  ;  the  wood  panelling  wa? 
shrunk  and  warped,  and  cracked  ;  the  doors,  which  had 
not  been  hung  for  more  than  two  years,  were,  neverthe- 
less, already  swinging  loose  from  their  hinges.  Desola- 
tion, in  short,  was  where  enjoyment  had  never  been  ;  and 
the  want  of  all  the  usual  means  to  preserve,  was  fast  per- 
forming the  work  of  decay. 

The  story  was  a  common  one,  and  told  in  a  few  words. 
Mr.  Treddles,  senior,  who  bought  the  estate,  was  a  cau- 
tious money-making  person  ;  his  son,  still  embarked  in 
commercial  speculations,  desired  at  the  same  time  to  en- 
ioy  his  opulence  and  to  increase  it.  He  incurred  great 
expenses,  amongst  which  this  edifice  was  to  be  numbered. 
To  support  these  he  speculated  boldly,  and  unfortunate- 
ly ;  and  thus  the  whole  history  is  told,  which  may  serve 
for  more  places  than  Glentanner. 

Strange  and  various  feelings  ran  through  my  bosom,  as 
1  loitered  in  these  deserted  apartments,  scarce  hearing 
what  my  guide  said  to  me  about  the  size  and  destination 
of  each  room.  The  first  sentiment,  1  am  ashamed  to  say, 
was  one  of  gratified  spite.  My  patrician  pride  was  pleas- 
ed, that  the  mechanic,  who  had  not  thought  the  house  of 
the  Croftangrys  sufficiently  good  for  him,  had  now  ex- 
perienced a  fall  in  his  turn.  My  next  thought  was  as 
mean,  though  not  so  malicious.  "  I  have  had  the  better 
of  this  fellow,"  thought  I  ;  "  if  I  lost  the  estate,  I  at  least 
spent  the  price  ;  and  Mr.  Treddles  has  lost  his  among 
paltry  commercial  engagements." 

"Wretch  !"  said  the  secret  voice  within,  "  darest  thou 
exult  in  thy  sharne  *!  Recollect  how  thy  youth  and  for- 
tune were  wasted  in  those  years,  and  triumph  not  in  the 
enjoyment  of  an  existence  which  levelled  thee  with  the 
beasts  that  perish.  Bethink  thee,  how  this  poor  man's 


44  CHRONICLES    OF 

ranity  gave  at  least  bread  to  the  labourer,  peasant,  and 
citizen  ;  and  his  profuse  expenditure,  like  water  spil  on 
the  ground,  refreshed  the  lowly  herbs  and  plants  where  it 
fell.  But  thou  !  whom  hast  thou  enriched,  during  thy 
career  of  extravagance,  save  those  brokers  of  the  devil, 
vintners,  panders,  gamblers,  and  horse-jockeys  9"  The 
anguish  produced  by  this  self-reproof  was  so  strong,  that 
I  put  rny  hand  suddenly  to  my  forehead,  and  was  obliged 
to  allege  a  sudden  megrim  to  my  attendant,  in  apology 
for  the  action,  and  a  slight  groan  with  which  it  was  ac- 
companied. 

I  then  made  an  effort  to  turn  my  thoughts  into  a  more 
philosophical  current,  and  muttered  half  aloud,  as  a  charm 
to  lull  any  more  painful  thoughts  to  rest — 

Ntmc  ager  Umbrtni  stib  nomint,  nuper  Ofelli 
Dicttts,  erit  nulli  propriits  ;  sed  cedit  in  usum 
Auric  mihi,  mine  alii.  Qitocirca  rivite  fortes, 
Fortiaque  adversis  ojiponite  jKctora  rebus.* 

In  my  anxiety  to  fix  the  philosophical  precept  in  my  mind, 
I  recited  the  last  line  aloud,  which,  joined  to  my  previous 
agitation,  I  afterwards  found  became  the  cause  of  a  re- 
port, that  a  mad  schoolmaster  had  come  from  Edinburgh, 
with  the  idea  in  his  head  of  buying  Castle-Treddles. 

As  I  saw  my  companion  was  desirous  of  getting  rid  of 
me,  1  asked  where  I  was  to  find  the  person  in  whose  hands 
were  left  the  map  of  the  estate,  and  other  particulars  con- 
nected with  the  sale.  The  agent  who  had  this  in  pos- 
session, I  was  told,  lived  at  the  town  of ;  which 

*  HORACE,  Sat    n.     Lib.  2.     The  meaning  will  be  best  conveyed  to  the 
Snglish  reader  in  Pope's  imitation  : — 

What's  property,  dear  Swift  ?  you  see  it  alter 

From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter; 

Or  in  a  mortgage  prove  a  lawyer's  share 

Or  in  a  jointure  vanish  from  the  heir. 

•        #***«#* 

Shades,  that  to  Bacon  could  retrenl  afford, 

Become  the  portion  of  a  booby  lord  ; 

And  Helmsiey.  once  proud  Buckingham's  delight, 

Slides  to  a  scrivener  and  city  knight. 

Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they  will, 

Let  us  be  fix'd.  and  our  own  masters  still. 


THE    CANONGATK.  45 

I  was  informed,  and  indeed  knew  well,  was  distait  five 
miles  and  a  bittock,  which  may  pass  in  a  country  where 
they  are  less  lavish  of  their  land,  for  two  or  three  more. 
Being  somewhat  afraid  of  the  fatigue  of  walking  so  far,  I 
inquired  if  a  horse,  or  any  sort  of  carriage,  was  to  be  had, 
and  was  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  But,"  said  my  cicerone,  "  you  may  halt  a  blink  till 
next  morning  at  the  Treddles  Arms,  a  very  decent  house, 
scarce  a  mile  off." 

"  A  new  house,  I  suppose  9"  replied  I. 

"  Na,  it's  a  new  public,  but  it's  an  auld  house  ;  it  was 
aye  the  Leddy's  jointure-house  in  the  Croftangry-folk's 
time  ;  but  Mr.  Treddles  has  fitted  it  up  for  the  conven- 
ience of  the  country.  Poor  man,  he  was  a  public-spirited 
man  when  he  had  the  means." 

"  Duntarkin  a  public  house  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ay  *)"  said  the  fellow,  surprised  at  my  naming  the 
place  by  its  former  title,  "  ye'll  hae  been  in  this  country 
before,  I'm  thinking  9" 

"  Long  since,"  1  replied — "  And  there  is  good  accom- 
modation at  the  what-d'ye-call-'em  arms,  and  a  civil 
landlord  ']"  This  I  said  by  way  of  saying  something,  for 
the  man  stared  very  hard  at  me. 

"  Very  decent  accommodation.  Ye'll  no  be  for  fash- 
ing wi'  wine,  I'm  thinking,  and  there's  walth  o'  porter, 
ale,  and  a  drap  gude  whisky — (in  an  under  tone)  Fairn- 
tosh,  if  you  can  get  on  the  lee-side  of  the  gudewife — for 
there  is  nae  gudeman — They  ca'  her  Christie  Steele." 

I  almost  started  at  the  sound.  Christie  Steele  !  Christie 
Steele  was  my  mother's  body  servant,  her  very  right  hand, 
and,  between  ourselves,  something  like  a  viceroy  ovei 
ner.  I  recollected  her  perfectly  ;  and  though  she  had, 
in  former  times,  been  no  favourite  of  mine,  her  name  now 
sounded  in  my  ear  like  that  of  a  friend,  and  was  the  first 
word  I  had  heard  somewhat  in  unison  with  the  associa- 
tion? around  me.  I  sallied  from  Castle-Treddles,  deter- 
mined to  make  the  best  of  my  way  to  Duntarkin,  and  my 
cicerone  hung  by  me  for  a  little  way,  giving  loose  to  hia 
kve  of  ta.'king  ;  an  opportunity  vhich,  situated  as  he  was 


46  CHRONICLES    OF 

the  seneschal  of  a  deserted  castle,  was  nc  likely  to  occt.» 
frequently. 

':  Some  folk  think,"  said  my  companion,  "  that  Mr 
Treddles  might  as  weel  have  put  my  wife  as  Christie 
Steele  into  the  Treddles  Arms,  for  Christie  had  been  aye 
in  service,  and  never  in  the  public  line,  and  so  it's  like  she 
is  ganging  back  in  the  world,  as  1  hear — now,  my  wife 
had  keepit  a  victualling  office.'' 

"  That  would  have  been  an  advantage,  certainly,"  I 
replied. 

"  But  I  am  no  sure  that  I  wad  ha'  looten  Eppie  take  it 
if  they  had  put  it  in  her  offer." 

"  That's  a  different  consideration." 

"  Ony  way,  I  vvadna  ha'  liked  to  have  offended  Mr. 
Treddles  ;  he  was  a  wee  touslie  when  you  rubbed  him 
again  the  hair — but  a  kind,  weel-meaning  man." 

I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  this  species  of  chat,  and  finding 
myself  near  the  entrance  of  a  footpath  which  made  a 
short  cut  to  Duntarkin,  I  put  half-a-crown  into  my  guide's 
hand,  bade  him  good-evening,  and  plunged  into  the  woods 

"  Hout,  sir — fie,  sir — no  from  the  like  of  you — stay, 
sir,  ye  vvunna  find  the  way  that  gate — Odd's  mercy,  he 
maun  ken  the  gate  as  weel  as  I  do  mysell — weel,  1  wad 
like  to  ken  wha  the  chield  is." 

Such  were  the  last  words  of  my  guide's  drowsy,  unin- 
teresting tone  of  voice  ;  and  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  I 
strode  out  stoutly,  in  despite  of  large  stones,  briers,  and 
bad  steps,  which  abounded  in  the  road  I  had  chosen.  In 
the  interim,  I  tried  as  much  as  I  could,  with  verses  from 
Horace  and  Prior,  and  all  who  have  lauded  the  mixture 
of  literary  with  rural  life,  to  call  back  the  visions  of  last 
night  and  this  morning,  imagining  myself  settled  in  some 
detached  farm  of  the  estate  of  Glentanner, 

Which  sloping  hills  around  inclose — 
Where  many  a  birch  and  brown  oak  grows  ; 

when  I  should  have  a  cottage  with  a  small  library,  a  small 
rellar,  a  spare  bed  for  a  friend,  and  live  more  happy  and 
more  honoured  than  when  I  had  the  whole  barony.  But 
the  s'°hi  of  Castle-Treddles  had  disturbed  all  my  own 


THE    CANONGATE.  4< 

tastles  in  the  air.  The  realities  of  the  matter,  like  a 
stone  plashed  into  a  limpid  fountain,  had  destroyed  the 
reflection  of  the  objects  around,  which,  till  this  act  ot 
violence,  lay  slumbering  on  the  crystal  surface,  and  I  tried 
in  vain  to  re-establish  the  picture  which  had  been  so  rude- 
ly broken.  Well,  then,  I  would  try  it  another  way  ;  I 
would  try  to  get  Christie  Steele  out  of  her  public,  since 
she  was  not  thriving  in  it,  and  she  who  had  been  rny 
mother's  governante  should  be  mine.  I  knew  all  her 
faults,  and  I  told  her  history  over  to  myself. 

She  was  a  grand-daughter,  I  believe,  at  least  some 
relative,  of  the  famous  Covenanter  of  the  name,  whom 
Dean  Swift's  friend,  Captain  Creichton, shot  on  his  own 
staircase  in  the  times  of  the  persecutions,13and  had  per- 
haps derived  from  her  native  stock  much  both  of  its  good 
and  evil  properties.  No  one  could  say  of  her  that  she 
was  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  family,  though,  in  my  moth- 
er's time,  she  directed  all  family  affairs  ;  her  look  was 
austere  and  gloomy,  and  when  she  was  not  displeased 
with  you,  you  could  only  find  it  out  by  her  silence.  If 
there  was  cause  for  complaint,  real  or  imaginary,  Christie 
was  loud  enough.  She  loved  my  mother  with  the  de- 
voted attachment  of  a  younger  sister,  but  she  was  as  jeal- 
ous of  her  favour  to  any  one  else  as  if  she  had  been  the 
aged  husband  of  a  coquettish  wife,  and  as  severe  in  her 
reprehensions  as  an  abbess  over  her  nuns.  The  com- 
mand which  she  exercised  over  her,  was  that,  I  fear,  oi 
a  strong  and  determined  over  a  feeble  and  more  nervous 
disposition  ;  and  though  it  was  used  with  rigour,  yet,  to 
the  best  of  Christie  Steeie's  belief,  she  was  urging  her 
mistress  to  her  best  and  most  becoming  course,  and  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  recommended  any  other. 
The  attachment  of  this  woman  was  limited  to  the  family 
of  Croftangry,  for  she  had  few  relations  ;  and  a  dissolute 
cousin,  whom  late  in  life  she  had  taken  as  a  husband,  had 
long  left  her  a  widow. 

To  me  she  had  ever  a  strong  dislike.  Even  from  my 
early  childhood,  she  was  jealous,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
of  my  interest  in  my  mother's  affections  ;  she  saw  my 


48  CHRONICLES    OF 

foibles  and  vices  with  abhorrence,  and  without  a  grain  of 
allowance  ;  nor  did  she  pardon  the  weakness  of  maternal 
affection,  even  when,  by  the  death  of  two  brothers,  I 
came  to  be  the  only  child  of  a  widowed  parent.  At  the 
time  my  disorderly  conduct  induced  my  mother  to  leave 
Glentanner,  and  retreat  to  her  jointure-house,  1  always 
blamed  Christie  Steele  for  having  influenced  her  resent- 
ment, and  prevented  her  from  listening  to  my  vows  of 
amendment;  which  at  times  were  real  and  serious,  and 
might,  perhaps,  have  accelerated  that  change  of  disposi- 
tion which  lias  since,  I  trust,  taken  place.  But  Christie 
regarded  me  as  altogether  a  doomed  and  predestinated 
child  of  perdition,  who  was  sure  to  hold  on  my  course, 
and  drag  downwards  whosoever  might  attempt  to  afford 
me  support. 

Still,  though  I  knew  such  had  been  Christie's  preju- 
dices against  me  in  other  days,  yet  1  thought  enough  of 
time  had  since  passed  away  to  destroy  all  of  them.  -  T 
knew,  that  when,  through  the  disorder  of  rny  affairs,  my 
mother  underwent  some  temporary  inconvenience  about 
money  matters,  Christie,  as  a  thing  of  course,  stood  in 
the  gap,  and  having  sold  a  small  inheritance  which  had 
descended  to  her,  brought  the  purchase-money  to  her 
mistress,  with  a  sense  of  devotion  as  deep  as  that  which 
'nspired  the  Christians  of  the  first  age,  when  they  sold 
ill  they  had,  and  followed  the  apostles  of  the  church.  I 
therefore  thought  that  we  might,  in  old  Scottish  phrase, 
"  let  byganes  be  byganes,"  and  begin  upon  a  new  ac- 
count. Yet  I  resolved,  like  a  skilful  general  to  reconnoi- 
tre a  little  before  laying  down  any  precise  scheme  oi 
proceeding,  and  in  the  interim  I  determined  to  preserve 
my  incognito. 


-THE    CANONGATE.  49 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MK     OROFTANGRY  BIDS  ADIEU  TO   CLYDESDALE. 

Alas,  how  changed  from  what  it  once  had  been ! 
'Twas  now  degraded  to  a  common  inn. — Gay. 

AN  hour's  brisk  walking,  or  thereabouts,  placed  me 
in  front  of  Duntarkin,  which  had  also,  I  found,  under- 
gone considerable  alterations,  though  it  had  not  been  al- 
together demolished  like  the  principal  mansion.  An 
inn-yard  extended  before  the  door  of  the  decent  little 
jointure-house,  even  amidst  the  remnants  of  the  holly 
hedges  which  had  screened  the  lady's  garden.  Then  a 
broad,  raw-looking,  new-made  road,  intruded  itself  up 
the  little  glen,  instead  of  the  old  horseway,  so  seldom 
used  that  it  was  almost  entirely  covered  with  grass.  It  is 
a  great  enormity  of  which  gentlemen  trustees  on  the  high- 
ways are  sometimes  guilty,  in  adopting  the  breadth  neces- 
sary for  an  avenue  to  the  metropolis,  where  all  that  is 
required  is  an  access  to  some  sequestered  and  unpopu- 
lous  district.  I  do  not  say  anything  of  the  expense  ; 
that  the  trustees  and  their  constituents  may  settle  as  they 
please.  But  the  destruction  of  sylvan  beauty  is  great, 
when  the  breadth  of  the  road  is  more  than  proportioned 
to  the  vale  through  which  it  runs,  and  lowers  of  course 
the  consequence  of  any  objects  of  wood  or  water,  or 
broken  and  varied  ground,  which  might  otherwise  attract 
notice,  and  give  pleasure.  A  bubbling  runnel  by  the  side 
of  one  of  those  modern  Appian  or  Flaminian  highways 
is  but  like  a  kennel, — the  little  hill  is  diminished  to  a  hil- 
lock,— the  romantic  hillock  to  a  mole-hill,  almost  too 
small  for  sight. 

Such  an  enormity,  however,  had  destroyed  the  qmei 
loneliness  of  Duntarkin,  and  intruded  its  breadth  of  dust 
an  1  eravel,  and  its  associations  of  po-chays  and  mail- 
527 


50 


CHRONICLES    OF 


coaches,  upon  one  of  the  most  sequestered  spots  in  the 
Middle  Ward  of  Clydesdale.  The  house  was  old  and 
dilapidated,  and  looked  sorry  for  itself,  as  if  sensible  of 
a  derogation  ;  but  the  sign  was  strong  and  new,  and 
brightly  painted,  displaying  a  heraldic  shield,  three  shut- 
tles in  a  tield  diapre,  a  web  partly  unfolded  for  crest,  and 
two  stout  giants  for  supporters,  each  one  holding  u  weaver's 
beam  proper.  To  have  displayed  this  monstrous  em- 
blem on  the  front  of  the  house  might  have  hazarded 
bringing  down  the  wall,  but  for  certain  would  have  block- 
ed up  one  or  two  windows.  It  was  therefore  established 
independent  of  the  mansion,  being  displayed  in  an  iroi 
frame-work,  and  suspended  upon  two  posts,  with  as  much 
wood  and  iron  about  it  as  would  have  builded  a  brig  ; 
and  there  it  hung,  creaking,  groaning,  and  screaming  in 
every  blast  of  wind,  and  frightening  for  five  miles'  dis- 
tance, for  aught  1  know,  the  nests  of  thrushes  and  linnets, 
the  ancient  denizens  of  the  little  glen. 

When  1  entered  the  place,  I  was  received  by  Christie 
Steele  herself,  who  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  drop  me 
in  the  kitchen,  or  usher  me  into  a  separate  apartment. 
As  I  called  for  tea,  with  something  rather  more  substan- 
tial than  bread  and  butter,  and  spoke  of  supping  and 
sleeping,  Christie  at  last  inducted  me  into  the  room  where 
she  herself  had  been  sitting,  probably  the  only  one  which 
had  a  fire,  though  the  month  was  October.  This  an- 
swerod  my  plan  ;  and,  as  she  was  about  to  remove  hei 
spinning-wheel,  I  begged  she  would  have  the  goodness  to 
remain  and  make  my  tea,  adding,  that  I  liked  the  sound 
of  the  wheel,  and  desired  not  to  disturb  her  housewife- 
thrift  in  the  least. 

"  I  dinna  ken,  sir," — she  replied  in  a  dry  reveche  tone, 
which  carried  me  back  twenty  years,  "  I  am  nane  of  thae 
heartsome  landleddies  that  can  tell  country  cracks,  and 
make  themselves  agreeable  ;  and  I  was  ganging  to  pit  on 
a  fire  for  you  in  the  Red  room  ;  but  if  it  is  your  will  tc 
3tay  here,  he  that  pays  the  lawing  maur  choose  the  lodg- 
ing." 


THE    CANOXGATE.  51 

I  endeavoured  to  engage  her  in  conversation  ;  bin 
though  she  answered  with  a  kind  of  stiff  civility,  I  could 
get  her  into  no  freedom  of  discourse,  and  she  began  tc 
look  at  her  wheel  and  at  the  door  more  than  once,  as  if 
she  meditated  a  retreat.  1  was  obliged,  therefore,  to 
proceed  to  some  special  questions  that  might  have  interest 
for  a  person,  whose  ideas  were  probably  of  a  very  bound- 
ed description. 

I  looked  round  the  apartment,  being  the  same  in  which 
I  had  last  seen  my  poor  mother.  The  author  of  the 
family  history,  formerly  mentioned,  had  taken  great  credit 
to  himself  for  the  improvements  he  had  made  in  this 
same  jointure-house  of  Duntarkin,  and  how,  upon  his 
marriage,  when  his  mother  took  possession  of  the  same 
as  her  jointure-house,  "  to  his  great  charges  and  expenses 
he  caused  box  the  walls  of  the  great  parlour,  (in  which  I 
was  now  sitting,)  empanel  the  same,  and  plaster  the  roof, 
finishing  the  apartment  with  ane  concave  chimney,  and 
decorating  the  same  with  pictures,  and  a  barometer  and 
thermometer."  And  in  particular,  which  his  good  moth 
er  used  to  say  she  prized  above  all  the  rest,  he  had  caus- 
ed his  own  portraiture  be  limned  over  the  mantel-piece 
by  a  skilful  hand.  And,  in  good  faith,  there  he  remained 
still,  having  much  the  visage  which  I  was  disposed  to  as- 
cribe to  him  on  the  evidence  of  his  handwriting, — grim 
and  austere,  yet  not  without  a  cast  of  shrewdness  and 
determination  ;  in  armour,  though  he  never  wore  it,  I 
fancy  ;  one  hand  on  an  open  book,  and  one  resting  on  the 
hilt  of  his  sword,  though  I  dare  say  his  head  never  ached 
with  reading,  nor  his  limbs  with  fencing. 

"  That  picture  is  painted  on  the  wood,  madam,"  said  I 

"  Ay,  sir,  or  it's  like  it  would  not  have  been  left  there  • 
—they  took  a'  they  could." 

"  Mr.  Treddles's  creditors,  you  mean  ?"  said  I. 

"  Na,"  replied  she,  dryly,"  the  creditors  of  another 
family,  that  sweepit  cleaner  than  this  poor  man's,  because 
I  fancy  there  was  less  to  gather." 

"  An  older  family,  perhaps,  and  probably  more  remem- 
bered and  regretted  than  luter  possessors  9" 


52 


CHRONICLES    OP 


Christie  here  settled  herself  in  her  seat,  and  pulled  hei 
wheel  towards  her.  I  had  given  her  something  interest 
ing  for  her  thoughts  to  dwell  upon,  and  her  wheel  was  a 
mechanical  accompaniment  on  such  occasions,  the  revo- 
lutions of  which  assisted  her  in  the  explanation  of  her 
ideas. 

"  Mair  regretted — mair  missed  ? — I  liked  ane  of  the 
auld  family  very  weel,  but  I  winna  say  that  for  them  a'. 
How  should  they  be  mair  missed  thantheTreddleses1? 
The  cotton  mill  was  such  a  thing  for  the  country  !  The 
mair  bairns  a  cottar  body  had  the  better  ;  they  would 
make  their  awn  keep  frae  the  time  they  were  five  years 
auld  ;  and  a  widow  wi'  three  or  four  bairns  was  a  wealthy 
woman  in  the  time  of  the  Treddleses." 

"  But  the  health  of  these  poor  children,  my  good 
friend — their  education  and  religious  instruction " 

"  For  health,"  said  Christie,  looking  gloomily  at  me, 
"  ye  maun  ken  little  of  the  warld,  sir,  if  ye  dinna  ken 
that  the  health  of  the  poor  man's  body,  as  weel  as  his  youth 
and  his  strength,  are  all  at  the  command  of  the  rich  man's 
purse.  There  never  was  a  trade  so  unhealthy  yet,  but 
men  would  fight  to  get  wark  at  it  for  twa  pennies  a-day 
aboon  the  common  wage.  But  the  bairns  were  reasona- 
bly weel  cared  for  in  the  way  of  air  and  exercise,  and  a 
very  responsible  youth  heard  them  their  carritch,  and  gied 
ihern  lessons  in  Reediernadeasy.*  Now,  what  did  they 
ever  get  before?  Maybe  on  a  winter  day  they  wad  be 
called  out  to  beat  the  wood  for  cocks  or  siclike,  and  then 
the  starving  weans  would  maybe  get  a  bite  of  broken 
bread,  and  maybe  no,  just  as  the  butler  was  in  humour — 
that  was  a'  they  got." 

"  They  were  not,  then,  a  very  kind  family  to  the  poor, 
these  old  possessors?"  said  I,  somewhat  bitterly  ;  for  I 
had  expected  to  hear  my  ancestors'  praises  recorded 
though  1  certainly  despaired  of  being  regaled  with  my 
own. 

"  They  werena  ill  to  them,  sir,  and  that  is  aye  some 

'•  Reading  made  F.asy,"  usually  so  pronounced  in  Scotland. 


THE    CANONGATE.  6ii 

tiling.  They  were  just  decent  bien  bodies  ; — ony  poor 
creature  that  had  face  to  beg  got  an  awmoin  and  wel- 
come ;  they  that  were  shamelaced  gaed  by,  and  twice  as 
welcome.  But  they  keepit  an  honest  walk  before  God 
and  man,  the  Croftangrys,  and,  as  I  said  before,  if  they 
did  little  good,  they  did  as  little  ill.  They  lifted  their 
rents  and  spent  them,  called  in  their  kain  and  eat  them  ; 
gaed  to  the  kirk  of  a  Sunday,  bowed  civilly  if  folk  took 
a(F  their  bannets  as  they  gaed  by,  and  lookit  as  black  as 
sin  at  them  that  keepit  them  on." 

"  These  are  their  arms  that  you  have  on  the  sign  ?" 
"  What  !  on  the  painted  board  that  is  skirling  and 
groaning  at  the  door  ? — Na,  these  are  Mr.  Treddles's 
arms — though  they  look  as  like  legs  as  arms—  ill  pleased 
I  was  at  the  fule  thing,  that  cost  as  muckle  as  woidd  hae 
repaired  the  house  from  the  wa'  stane  to  the  rigging-tree. 
But  if  I  am  to  bide  here,  I'll  bae  a  decent  board  wi' 
a  punch  bowl  on  it." 

"  Is  there  a  doubt  of  your  staying  here,  Mrs.  Steele  ?" 
"  Dinna  Mistress  me,"  said  the  cross  old  woman, 
whose  fingers  were  now  plying  their  thrift  in  a  manner 
which  indicated  nervous  irritation — "  there  was  nae  luck 
m  the  land  since  Luckie  turned  Mistress,  and  Mistress  my 
Leddy  ;  and  as  for  staying  here,  if  it  concerns  you  to 
ken,  1  may  stay  if  I  can  pay  a  hundred  pund  sterling  for 
the  lease,  and  I  may  flit  if  I  canna  ;  and  so  good-e'en  to 
you,  Christie," — and  round  went  the  wheel  with  much 
activity. 

"  And  you  like  the  trade  of  keeping  a  public  house  ?" 
"  I  can  scarce  say  that,"  she  replied.  "  But  worthy 
Mr.  Prondergast  is  clear  of  its  lawfulness,  and  I  hae  got- 
ten used  to  it,  and  made  a  decent  living,  though  I  never 
make  out  a  fause  reckoning,  or  give  ony  ane  the  means  to 
disorder  reason  in  my  house." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  in  that  case,  there  is  no  wonder 
you  have  not  made  up  the  hundred  pounds  to  purchase 
the  lease." 

"  How  do  you  ken,"  said  she  sharply,  "  lha«  I  might 
vol..  i 


CHRONICLES    OF 

not  have  had  a  hundred  punds  of  my  am  fee  ?  If  J 
have  it  not,  1  am  sure  it  is  my  ain  faut ;  and  I  wunna  ca 
it  faiit  neither,  for  it  gaed  to  her  vvha  was  vveel  entitled  to 
a'  my  service."  Again  she  pulled  stoutly  at  the  flax, 
and  the  wheel  went  smartly  round. 

"  This  old  gentleman,"  said  I,  fixing  my  eye  on  the 
painted  panel,  "  seems  to  have  had  his  arms  painted  as 
well  as  Mr.  Treddles — that  is,  if  thai  painting  in  the  cor- 
ner be  a  scutcheon." 

"  Ay,  ay — cushion,  just  sae,  they  maun  a'  hae  their 
cushions  ;  there's  srna'  gentry  without  that  ;  and  so  the 
arms,  as  they  ca'  them,  of  the  house  of  Glentanner,  may 
be  seen  on  an  auld  stane  in  the  west  end  of  the  house. 
But  to  do  them  justice,  they  didna  propale  sae  muckle 
about  them  as  poor  Mr.  Treddles  did  ; — it's  like  they 
were  better  used  to  them." 

"  Very  likely. — Are  there  any  of  the  old  family  in 
life,  good  wife  "?" 

"  No,"  she  replied  ;  then  added,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation — "  not  that  I  know  of," — and  the  wheel,  which 
had  intermitted,  began  again  to  revolve. 

"  Gone  abroad,  perhaps1?"  I  suggested. 

She  now  looked  up  and  faced  me — "  No,  sir.  There 
were  three  sons  of  the  last  laird  of  Glentanner,  as  he  was 
then  called  ;  John  and  William  were  hopeful  young  gen- 
tlemen, but  they  died  early — one  of  a  decline,  brought 
on  by  the  mizzles,  the  other  lost  his  life  in  a  fever.  It 
would  hae  been  lucky  for  niony  ane  that  Chrystal  had 
gane  the  same  gate." 

"  Oh — he  must  have  been  the  young  spendthrift  that 
sold  the  properly  9  Well,  but  you  should  not  have  such 
in  ill-will  against  him  :  remember  necessity  has  no  law  ; 
ind  then,  goodwife,  he  was  not  more  culpable  than  Mr. 
Treddles,  whom  yon  are  so  sorry  for." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  sae,  sir,  for  his  mother's  sake  , 
but  Mr.  Treddles  was  in  trade,  and  though  he  had  no 
preceese  right  to  do  so,  yet  there  was  some  warrant  for  a 
man  being  expensive  that  imagined  he  was  making  a  mint 
of  money.  But  ihis  unhappy  lad  devoured  his  patrimo- 


THE    CAXOXGATK.  o 

ny,  when  he  kenned  that  he  was  living  like  a  ratten  in  a 
Dunlap  cheese,  and  diminishing  his  means  at  a'  hands — 
I  canna  bide  to  think  on't."  With  this  she  broke  out  intc 
a  snatch  of  a  ballad  ;  but  little  of  mirth  was  there  either 
in  the  tone  or  the  expression — 

"  For  he  did  spend,  and  make  an  end 

Of  gear  that  his  forefathers  wan  : 
Of  land  and  ware  he  made  him  bare. 

So  speak  iiae  mair  of  the  auld  gudeman." 

"  Come,  dame,"  said  I,  "  it  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no 
turning.  I  will  not  keep  from  you  that  I  have  heard 
something  of  this  poor  fellow,  Chrystal  Croftangry.  He 
has  sown  his  wild  oats,  as  they  say,  and  has  settled  into  a 
steady  respectable  man." 

"  And  wha  tell'd  ye  that  tidings  9"  said  she,  looking 
sharply  at  me. 

"  Not  perhaps  the  best  judge  in  the  world  of  his  char- 
acter, for  it  was  himself,  dame." 

"  And  if  he  tell'd  you  truth,  it  was  a  virtue  he  did  not 
aye  use  to  practise,"  said  Christie. 

"  The  devil !"  said  I,  considerably  nettled  ;  "  all  the 
world  held  him  to  be  a  man  of  honour. "t 

"  Ay,  ay  !  he  would  hae  shot  ony  body  vvi'  his  pistols 
and  his  guns,  that  had  evened  him  to  be  a  liar.  But  if 
he  promised  to  pay  an  honest  tradesman  the  next  term- 
day,  did  he  keep  his  word  then  9  And  if  he  promised 
a  poor  silly  lass  to  make  gude  her  shame,  did  he  speak 
truth  then  9  And  what  is  that,  but  being  a  liar,  and  a 
black-hearted  deceitful  liar  to  boot  ?" 

My  indignation  was  rising,  but  I  strove  to  suppress  it , 
indeed,  I  should  only  have  afforded  my  tormentor  a  tri 
amph  by  an  angry  reply.  I  partly  suspected  she  began 
o  recognize  me  ;  yet  she  testified  so  little  emotion,  that  1 
sould  not  think  my  suspicion  well  founded.  I  went  on, 
therefore,  to  say,  in  a  tone  as  indifferent  as  I  could  com- 
mand, "  Well,  goodwife,  I  see  you  will  believe  no  good 
of  this  Chrystal  of  yours,  till  he  comes  back  and  bii)s  a 
e;ood  farm  on  the  estate,  and  makes  you  his  housekeeper. 


>>O  CHRONICLES    OF 

The  old  woman  dropped  her  thread,  folded  her  hands, 
is  she  looked  up  to  heaven  with  a  face  of  apprehension. 
''  The  Lord,"  she  exclaimed,  "  forbid  !  the  Lord  in  his 
mercy  forbid  !  Oh,  sir  !  if  you  really  know  this  unlucky 
man,  persuade  him  to  settle  where  folk  ken  the  good  that 
you  say  he  has  come  to.  and  dinna  ken  the  evil  of  his 
former  days.  He  used  to  be  proud  enough — O  dinna 
let  him  come  here,  even  for  his  own  sake. — He  used 
ance  to  have  some  pride." 

Here  she  once  more  drew  the  wheel  close  to  her,  and 
began  to  pull  at  the  flax  with  both  hands — "  Dinna  let  him 
come  here,  to  be  looked  down  upon  by  ony  that  may  be 
left  of  his  auld  reiving  companions,  and  to  see  the  decent 
folk  that  he  looked  over  his  nose  at  look  over  their  noses 
at  him,  baith  at  kirk  and  market.  Dinna  let  him  come 
to  his  ain  country  to  be  made  a  tale  about  when  ony 
neighbour  points  him  out  to  another,  and  tells  what  he  is, 
and  what  he  was,  and  how  he  wrecked  a  dainty  estate, 
and  brought  harlots  to  the  door-cheek  of  his  father's 
house,  till  he  made  it  nae  residence  for  his  mother  ;  and 
how  it  had  been  foretauld  by  a  servant  of  his  ain  house, 
that  he  was  a  ne'er-do-weel,  and  a  child  of  perdition,  and 
how  her  words  tvere  made  good,  and " 

"  Stop  there,  goodwife,  if  you  please,"  said  I :  "  you 
have  said  as  much  as  1  can  well  remember,  and  more  than 
it  may  be  safe  to  repeat.  1  can  use  a  great  deal  of  free- 
dom with  the  gentleman  we  speak  of  ;  but  1  think  were 
any  other  person  to  carry  him  half  of  your  message,  I 
would  scarce  insure  his  personal  safety.  And  now,  as  I 
see  the  night  is  settled  to  be  a  fine  one,  I  will  walk  on 

to ,  where  I  must  meet  a  coach  to-morrow,  as  it 

passes  to  Edinburgh." 

So  saying,  I  paid  my  moderate  reckoning,  and  took 
my  leave,  without  being  able  to  discover  whether  the  pre- 
ludiced  and  hard-hearted  old  woman  did,  or  did  not,  sus- 
pect the  identity  of  her  guest,  with  the  Chrystal  Croftan- 
^ry  against  whom  she  harboured  so  much  dislike. 

The  night  was  fine  and  frosty,  though,  when  1  pretend- 
•»d  to  3*6  what  its  character  was,  it  might  have  rained  like 


THE    CANONGATE.  57 

Jie  deluge.  I  only  made  the  excuse  to  escape  from  old 
Christie  Steele.  The  horses  which  run  races  in  the 
Corso  at  Rome  without  any  riders,  in  order  to  stimulate 
their  exertion,  carry  each  his  own  spurs,  namely,  small 
balls  of  steel,  with  sharp  projecting  spikes,  which  are  at- 
tached to  loose  straps  of  leather,  and,  flying  about  in  the 
violence  of  the  agitation,  keep  the  horse  to  his  speed  by 
pricking  him  as  they  strike  against  his  flanks.  The  old 
woman's  reproaches  had  the  same  effect  on  me,  arid  urg- 
ed me  to  a  rapid  pace,  as  if  it  had  been  possible  to  escape 
from  my  own  recollections.  In  the  best  days  of  my  life, 
when  I  won  one  or  two  hard  walking  matches,  I  doubt  il 
I  ever  walked  so  fast  as  I  did  betwixt  the  Treddles  Arms 
and  the  borough  town  for  which  1  was  bound.  Though 
the  night  was  cold,  1  was  warm  enough  by  the  time  I  got 
to  my  inn  ;  and  it  required  a  refreshing  draught  of  porter, 
with  half  an  hour's  repose,  ere  I  could  determine  to  give 
no  farther  thought  to  Christie  and  her  opinions,  than  those 
of  any  other  vulgar  prejudiced  old  woman.  I  resolved 
at  last  to  treat  the  thing  en  bagatelle,  and,  calling  for 
writing  materials,  I  folded  up  a  cheque  for  £  100,  with 
these  lines  on  the  envelope  : 

Chrystal,  the  ne'er-do-weel, 
Child  destined  to  the  Dei), 
Sends  this  to  Christie  Steele. 

And  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  this  new  mode  of  view 
ing  the  subject,  that  I  regretted  the  lateness  of  the  lioui 
prevented  my  finding  a  person  to  carry  the  letter  express 
to  its  destination. 

But  with  the  morning  cool  reflection  came. 

I  considered  that  the  money,  and  probably  more,  was 
actually  due  by  me  on  my  mother's  account  to  Christie, 
who  had  lent  it  in  a  moment  of  great  necessity  and  thai 
',he  returning  it  in  a  light  or  ludicrous  manner  was  noi 
jmlikely  to  prevent  so  touchy  and  punctilious  a  person 
from  accepting  a  debt  which  was  most  justly  her  due, 
inrl  whic'i  i'.  became  me  particularly  to  sec  satisfied. 


CHRONICLES    OF 

Sacrificing  then  my  triad  with  little  regret,  (for  it  looked 
netter  by  candle-light  and  through  the  medium  of  a  pot 
of  porter,  than  it  did  by  daylight,  and  with  bohea  for  a 
menstruum,)  I  determined  to  employ  Mr.  Fairscnbe's 
mediation  in  buying  up  the  lease  of  the  little  inn,  and 
conferring  it  upon  Christie  in  the  way  which  should  make 
it  most  acceptable  to  her  feelings.  It  is  only  necessary 
to  add,  that  my  plan  succeeded,  and  that  Widow  Steele  ' 
even  yet  keeps  the  Treddles  Arms.  Do  not  say,  there- 
fore, that  I  have  been  disingenuous  with  you,  reader  ; 
since,  if  I  have  not  told  all  the  ill  of  myself  I  might  have 
done,  I  have  indicated  to  you  a  person  able  and  willing 
to  supply  the  blank,  by  relating  all  my  delinquencies,  as 
well  as  my  misfortunes. 

In  the  meantime,  1  totally  abandoned  the  idea  of  re- 
deeming any  part  of  my  paternal  property,  and  resolved 
to  take  Christie  Steele's  advice,  as  young  Norval  does 
Glenalvon's,  '  although  it  sounded  harshly." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.   CROFTANGRY  SETTLES   IN  THE   CANONGATE. 
If  you  will  know  my  house, 


Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives  here  hard  by. 

As  You  Like  It. 

BY  a  revolution  of  humour  which  I  am  unable  to  ac- 
count for,  I  changed  my  mind  entirely  on  my  plans  of 
life,  in  consequence  of  the  disappointment,  the  history  of 
which  fills  the  last  chapter.  I  began  to  discover  that  the 
country  would  not  at  all  suit  me ;  for  I  had  relinquished 
field-sports,  and  felt  no  inclination  whatever  to  farming, 
ihe  ordinary  vocation  of  country  gentlemen  ;  besides  that 
I  had  no  talent  for  assisting  either  candidate  in  case  of  an 
axpected  election,  and  saw  no  amusement  in  the  duties 
of  a  ro^d  trustee,  a  commissioner  of  supply,  or  even  in 


THE    CANON GATE.  59 

the  magisterial  functions  of  the  bench.  I  had  bt'gun  to 
lake  some  taste  for  reading  ;  and  a  domiciliation  in  the 
country  must  remove  me  from  the  use  of  books,  except- 
ing the  small  subscription  library,  in  which  the  very  book 
which  you  want  is  uniformly  sure  to  be  engaged. 

I  resolved,  therefore,  to  make  the  Scottish  metropolis 
my  regular  resting-place,  reserving  to  myself  to  take  oc- 
casionally those  excursions,  which,  spite  of  all  I  have  said 
against  mail-coaches,  Mr.  Piper  has  rendered  so  easy. 
Friend  of  our  life  and  of  our  leisure,  he  secures  by  de- 
spatch against  loss  of  time,  and  by  the  best  of  coaches, 
cattle,  and  steadiest  of  drivers,  against  hazard  of  limb,  and 
wafts  us,  as  well  as  our  letters,  from  Edinburgh  to  Cape 
Wrath  in  the  penning  of  a  paragraph. 

When  my  mind  was  quite  made  up  to  make  Auld 
Reekie  my  head-quarters,  reserving  the  privilege  of  ex- 
ploring in  all  directions,  I  began  to  explore  in  good  ear- 
nest for  the  purpose  of  discovering  a  suitable  habitation. 
"  And  whare  trevv  ye  I  gaed  *?"  as  Sir  Pertinax  says. 
Not  to  George's  square — nor  to  Charlotte  Square — nor 
to  the  old  New  Town — nor  to  the  new  New  Town — nor  to 
the  Gallon  Hill  ;  I  went  to  the  Canongate,  and  to  the 
very  portion  of  the  Canongate  in  which  1  had  formerly 
been  immured,  like  the  errant  knight,  prisoner  in  some 
enchanted  castle,  where  spells  have  made  the  ambient 
air  impervious  to  the  unhappy  captive,  although  the  or- 
gans of  sight  encounlered  no  obslacle  to  his  free  passage. 

Why  I  should  have  thought  of  pitching  my  lent  here 
I  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  it  was  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  01 
freedom,  where  I  had  so- long  endured  the  bitterness  of 
restraint ;  on  the  principle  of  the  officer,  who,  after  he 
had  retired  from  the  army,  ordered  his  servant  to  continue 
to  call  him  at  the  hour  of  parade,  simply  that  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  saying-  -"D — n  the  parade!"  and 
urnmg  to  the  other  side  to  enjoy  his  slumbers.  Or  per- 
haps 1  expected  to  find  in  ihe  vicinity  some  little  old-fash- 
oned  house,  having  somewhat  of  the  rus  in  urbe,  which 
I  was  ambitious  of  enjoying.  Enough,  I  went,  as  afore- 
said, to  the  Canongate. 


CO 


CHRONICLES    OV 


I  stood  by  the  kennel,  of  which  T  have  formerly  spoken, 
and,  my  mind  being  at  ease,  my  bodily  organs  were  more 
delicate.  I  was  more  sensible  than  heretofore,  that,  like 
the  trade  of  Pompey  in  Measure  for  Measure — it  did  in 

some  sort pah — an  ounce  of  civet,  good  apothecary! 

— Turning  from  thence,  my  steps  naturally  directed  them- 
selves to  my  own  humble  apartment,  where  my  little  High- 
land landlady,  as  dapper  and  as  tight  as  ever,  (for  old 
women  wear  a  hundred  times  better  than  the  hard-wrought 
seniors  of  the  masculine  sex,)  stood  at  the  door,  tecdling 
to  herself  a  Highland  song  as  she  shook  a  table  napkin 
over  the  fore-stair,  and  then  proceeded  to  fold  it  up  neatly 
for  future  service. 

"  How  do  you,  Janet  9" 

"  Thank  ye,  good  sir,"  answered  my  old  friend,  with- 
out looking  at  me  ;  "  but  ye  might  as  weel  say  Mrs.  Mac- 
Evoy,  for  she  is  na  a'body's  Shanet — umph." 

"  You  must  be  my  Janet,  though,  for  all  that — have 
you  forgot  me  9 — Do  you  not  remember  Chrystal  Croft- 
angry  9" 

The  light,  kind-hearted  creature  threw  her  napkin  into 
the  open  door,  skipped  down  the  stair  like  a  fairy,  three 
steps  at  once,  seized  me  by  the  hands, — both  hands, — 
iumped  up,  and  actually  kissed  me.  I  was  a  little  asham- 
ed ;  but  what  swain,  of  somewhere  inclining  to  sixty, 
could  resist  the  advances  of  a  fair  contemporary  9  So 
we  allowed  the  full  degree  of  kindness  to  the  meeting. — 
horn  soit  quintal y  pensc, — and  then  Janet  entered  instant- 
ly upon  business.  "  An'ye'll  gae  in,  man,  and  see  your 
auld  lodgings,  nae  doubt,  and  Shanet  will  pay  ye  the  fif- 
teen shillings  of  change  that  ye  ran  away  without,  and 
without  bidding  Shanet  good  day.  But  never  mind," 
(nodding  good-humouredly,)  "  Shanet  saw  you  were  car- 
ried for  the  time." 

By  this  time  we  were  in  my  old  quarters,  and  Janet, 
with  her  bottle  of  cordial  in  one  hand  and  the  glass  in  the 
other,  had  forced  on  me  a  dram  of  usquebaugh,  distilled 
with  saffron  and  other  herbs,  after  some  old-fashioned 
Highland  receipt.  Then  was  unfolded,  out  of  many  a 


Tllii    CANOSGATli.  61 

little  scrap  of  paper,  the  reserved  sum  of  fifteen  shillings, 
which  Janet  had  treasured  for  twenty  years  and  upwards 

"  Here  they  are,"  she  said,  in  honest  triumph,  "just 
the  same  I  was  holding  out  to  ye  when  ye  ran  as  if  ye  had 
been  fey.  Shanet  has  had  siller,  and  Shanet  has  wanted 
siller,  mony  a  time  since  that — and  the  ganger  has  come, 
and  the  factor  has  come,  and  the  butcher  and  baker — 
Cot  bless  us — just  like  to  tear  poor  auld  Shanet  to  pieces  ; 
out  she  took  good  care 'of  Mr.  Croftangry's  fifteen  sibl- 
ings." 

"  But  what  if  I  had  never  come  back,  Janet  9" 

"  Och,  if  Shanet  had  heard  you  were  dead,  she  would 
hae  gien  it  to  the  poor  of  the  chapel,  to  pray  for  JVlr. 
Croftangry,"  said  Janet,  crossing  herself,  for  she  was  a 
Catholic  ; — "  you  maybe  do  not  think  it  would  do  you 
cood,  but  the  blessing  of  the  poor  can  never  do  no  harm." 

I  agreed  heartily  in  Janet's  conclusion  ;  and,  as  to  have 
desired  her  to  consider  the  hoard  as  her  own  property, 
would  have  been  an  indelicate  return  to  her  for  the  up- 
rightness of  her  conduct,  I  requested  her  to  dispose  of  it 
as  she  had  proposed  to  do  in  the  event  of  my  death,  that 
is,  if  she  knew  any  poor  people  of  merit  to  whom  it  might 
be  useful. 

"  Ower  mony  of  them,"  raising  the  corner  of  her  check- 
ed apron  to  her  eyes,  "  e'en  ower  mony  of  them,  Mr. 
Croftangry. — Och,  ay — there  is  the  puir  Highland  crea- 
tures frae  Glenshee,  that  cam  down  for  the  harvest,  and 
are  lying  wi'  the  fever — five  shillings  to  them,  and  half-a- 
crown  to  Bessie  MacEvoy,  whose  coodman,  puir  creature, 
died  of  the  frost,  being  a  shairman,  for  a'  the  whisky  he 
could  drink  to  keep  it  out  o'  his  stamoch — and " 

But  she  suddenly  interrupted  the  bead-roll  of  her  pro- 
posed charities,  and  assuming  a  very  sage  look,  and  prim- 
ming up  her  little  chattering  mouth,  she  went  on  in  a 
different  tone — "  But,  och,  Mr.  Croftangry,  bethink  ye 
whether  ye  will  not  need  a'  this  siller  yoursell,  and  maybe 
look  back  and  think  lang  for  ha'en  kiven  it  away,  vvhilk  is 
a  creat  sin  to  forthink  a  wark  o'  charity,  and  also  is  un- 
VOL.  i. 


62  CHHOMCLES    OF 

lucky,  and  moreover  is  not  the  thought  of  a  shentleman' 
son  like  yoursell,  dear.     And  I  say  this,  that  ye  may  think 
a  bit,  for  your  mother's  son  kens  that  ye  are  no  so  care- 
ful as  you  should  be  of  the  gear,  and  1  hae  tauld  ye  of  it 
before,  jewel." 

1  assured  her  1  could  easily  spare  the  money,  without 
risk  of  future  repentance  ;  and  she  went  on  to  infer, 
that,  in  such  a  case,  "  Mr.  Croftangry  had  grown  a  rich 
man  in  foreign  parts,  and  was  ffee  of  his  troubles  with 
messengers  and  sheriff-officers,  and  siclike  scum  of  the 
earth,  and  Shanet  MacEvoy's  mother's  daughter  be  a 
blithe  woman  to  hear  it.  Put  if  JVlr.  Croftangry  was  in 
trouble,  there  was  his  room,  and  his  ped,  and  Shanet  to 
wait  on  him,  and  lak  payment  when  it  was  quite  con- 
venient." 

1  explained  to  Janet  my  situation,  in  which  she  express- 
ed unqualified  delight.  I  then  proceeded  to  inquire  into 
her  own  circumstances,  and,  though  she  spoke  cheerfully 
and  contentedly,  I  could  see  they  were  precarious.  I  had 
paid  more  than  was  due  ;  other  lodgers  fell  into  an  oppo- 
site error,  and  forgot  to  pay  Janet  at  all.  Then,  Janet 
being  ignorant  of  all  indirect  modes  of  screwing  money 
out  of  her  lodgers,  others  in  the  same  line  of  life,  who 
were  sharper  than  the  poor  simple  Highland  woman,  were 
enabled  to  let  their  apartments  cheaper  in  appearance, 
though  the  inmates  usually  found  them  twice  as  dear  in 
the  long-run. 

As  I  had  already  destined  my  old  landlady  to  be  my 
housekeeper  and  governante,  knowing  her  honesty,  good- 
nature, and,  although  a  Scotchwoman,  her  cleanliness  ai:d 
excellent  temper,  (saving  the  short  and  hasty  expressions 
of  anger  which  Highlanders  call  afuff,)  I  now  proposed 
the  plan  to  her  in  such  a  way  as  was  likely  to  make  it 
Tiost  acceptable.  Very  acceptable  as  the  proposal  was 
as  I  could  plainly  see,  Janet,  however,  took  a  day  to  con- 
sider upon  it ;  and  her  reflections  against  our  next  meet- 
ing had  suggested  only  one  objection,  which  wa,T  singulai 
enough. 


TUB    CANONGATE.  63 

•'  My  honour,"  so  she  now  termed  me,  '  would  pe  for 
biding  in  some  fine  street  apout  the  town  ;  now  Shanet 
wad  ill  like  to  live  in  a  place  where  polish,  and  sheriffs, 
and  bailiffs,  and  sic  thieves  and  trash  of  the  world,  could 
tak  puir  shentlemen  by  the  throat,  just  because  they  want- 
ed a  wheen  dollars  in  the  sporran.  She  had  lived  in  the 
bonny  glen  of  Tomanthoulick — Cot,  an  ony  of  the  ver- 
mint  had  come  there,  her  father  wad  hae  wared  a  shot 
on  them,  and  he  could  hit  a  buck  within  as  mony  meas- 
ured yards  as  e'er  a  man  of  his  clan.  And  the  place 
here  was  so  quiet  frae  them,  they  durst  na  put  their  nose 
ower  the  gutter.  Shanet  owed  nobody  a  bodle,  put  she 
couldna  pide  to  see  honest  folk  and  pretty  shentlemen 
forced  away  to  prison  whether  they  would  or  no  ;  and 
then  if  Shauet  was  to  lay  her  tangs  ower  ane  of  the  rag- 
amuffins' heads,  it  would  be,  maybe,  that  the  law  would 
gi'ed  a  hard  name." 

One  thing  I  have  learned  in  life, — never  to  speak  sense 
when  nonsense  will  answer  the  purpose  as  well.  I  should 
have  had  great  difficulty  to  convince  this  practical  and  dis- 
interested admirer  and  vindicator  of  liberty,  that  arrests 
seldom  or  never  were  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  to  satisfy  her  of  their  justice  and  necessity, 
would  have  been  as  difficult  as  to  convert  her  to  the  Pro- 
testant faith.  I  therefore  assured  her  my  intention,  if  I 
could  get  a  suitable  habitation,  was  to  remain  in  the  quarter 
where  she  at  present  dwelt.  Janet  gave  three  skips  on 
the  floor,  and  uttered  as  many  short  shrill  yells  of  joy  ; 
yet  doubt  almost  instantly  returned,  and  she  insisted  on 
knowing  what  possible  reason  I  could  have  for  making  my 
residence  where  few  lived,  save  those  whose  misfortunes 
drove  them  thither.  It  occurred  to  rrie  to  answer  her  by 
recounting  the  legend  of  the  rise  of  my  family,  and  ol 
our  deriving  our  name  from  a  particular  place  near  Holy- 
rood  Palace.  This,  which  would  have  appeared  to  most 
people  a  very  absurd  reason  for  choosing  a  residence,  was 
entirely  satisfactory  to  Janet  MacEvoy. 

"  Och,  nae  doubt  !  if  it  was  the  land  of  her  fatheis, 
there  was  nae  mair  to  be  said.  Put  it  was  queer  that  her 


64  CHRONICLES    OF 

family  estate  should  just  lie  at  the  town  tail,  and  covered 
with  houses  where  the  King's  cows,  Col  bless  them  hide 
and  horn,  used  to  craze  upon.  It  was  strange  changes." 
— She  mused  a  little,  and  then  added,  "  Put  it  is  some- 
thing better  wi'  Croftangry  when  the  changes  is  frae  the 
field  to  the  habited  place,  and  not  from  the  place  of  hab- 
.tation  to  the  desert ;  for  Shanet,  her  nainsell,  kent  a  glen 
where  there  were  men  as  weel  as  there  maybe  in  Croft- 
angry,  and  if  there  werena  altogether  sae  mony  of  them, 
they  were  as  good  men  in  their  tartan  as  the  others  in 
their  broadcloth.  And  there  were  houses'  too,  and  if  they 
were  not  biggit  with  stane  and  lime,  and  lofted  like  the 
houses  at  Croftangry,  yet  they  served  the  purpose  of  them 
that  lived  there  ;  and  mony  a  braw  bonnet,  and  mony  a 
silk  snood,  and  comely  white  curch,  would  come  out  to 
gang  to  kirk  or  chapel  on  the  Lord's  day,  and  little  bairns 
toddling  after  ;  and  now, — Och,  Och,  Ohellany,  Ohonari ! 
the  glen  is  desolate,  and  the  braw  snoods  and  bonnets  are 
gane,  and  the  Saxon's  house  stands  dull  and  lonely,  like 
the  single  bare-breasted  rock  that  the  falcon  builds  on — 
the  falcon  that  drives  the  heath-bird  frae  the  glen." 

Janet,  like  many  Highlanders,  was  full  of  imagination  ; 
and,  when  melancholy  themes  came  upon  her,  expressed 
herself  almost  poetically,  owing  to  the  genius  of  the  Celtic 
language  in  which  she  thought,  and  in  which,  doubtless, 
she  would  have  spoken,  had  I  understood  Gaelic.  In  two 
minutes  the  shade  of  gloom  and  regret  had  passed  from 
her  good-humoured  features,  and  she  was  again  the  little 
busy,  prating,  important  old  woman,  undisputed  owner  of 
one  flat  of  a  small  tenement  in  the  Abbey-yard,  and  about 
to  be  promoted  to  be  housekeeper  to  an  elderly  bachelor 
gentleman,  Clirystal  Croftangry,  Esq. 

It  was  not  long  before  Janet's  local  researches  found 
out  exactly  the  sort  of  place  I  wanted,  and  there  we  set 
tied.  Janet  was  afraid  I  would  not  be  satisfied,  because 
it  is  not  exactly  part  of  Croftangry  ;  but  I  stopped  hci 
doubts,  by  assuring  her  it  had  been  part  and  pendicle 
iheieof  in  my  forefathers'  time,  which  passed  very 


THE    CANOAGATE.  6S 

I  do  not  intend  to  possess  any  one  with  an  exact  know- 
ledge of  my  lodging  ;  though,  as  Bobadil  says,  "  I  care 
not  who  knows  it,  since  the  cabin  is  convenient."  But  1 
may  state  in  general,  that  it  is  a  house  "  within  itself,"  or 
according  to  a  newer  phraseology  in  advertisements,  self- 
contained,  has  a  garden  of  near  half  an  acre,  and  a  patch 
of  ground  with  trees  in  front.  It  boasts  five  luoms  and 
servants'  apartments — looks  in  front  upon  the  palace,  and 
from  behind  towards  the  hill  and  crags  of  the  King's  Park. 
Fortunately  the  place  had  a  name,  which,  with  a  little  im- 
provement, served  to  countenance  the  legend  which  I  had 
imposed  on  Janet,  and  would  not  perhaps  have  been  sorry 
if  I  had  been,  able  to  impose  on  myself.  It  was  called 
Liltlecroft ;  we  have  dubbed  it  Little  Croftangry,  and  the 
men  of  letters  belonging  to  the  Post  Office  have  sanctioned 
the  change,  and  deliver  letters  so  addressed.  Thus  i  am 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  Chrystal  Croftangry  of  that  ilk. 

My  establishment  consists  of  Janet,  an  under  maid- 
servant, and  a  Highland  wench  for  Janet  to  exercise  her 
Gaelic  upon,  with  a  handy  lad  who  can  lay  the  cloth,  and 
take  care  besides  of  a  pony,  on  which  I  find  my  way  to 
Portobello  sands,  especially  when  the  cavalry  have  a 
drill  ;  for,  like  an  old  fool  as  I  am,  1  have  not  altogether 
become  indifferent  to  the  tramp  of  horses  and  the  flash 
of  weapons,  of  which,  though  no  professional  soldier,  it 
has  been  my  fate  to  see  something  in  my  youth.  For 
wet  mornings,  I  have  my  book — is  it  fine  weather,  I  visit 
or  I  wander  on  the  Crags  as  the  humour  dictates.  My 
dinner  is  indeed  solitary,  yet  not  quite  so  neither  ;  for 
though  Andrew  waits,  Janet,  or, — as  she  is  to  all  the 
world  but  her  master,  and  certain  old  Highland  gossips, — 
Mrs.  MacEvoy,  attends,  bustles  about,  and  desires  to  see 
everything  is  in  first-rate  order,  and  to  tell  me,  Cot  pless 
us,  the  wonderful  news  of  the  Palace  for  the  day.  When 
the  cloth  is  removed,  and  1  light  my  segar.  and  begin  tc 
husband  a  pint  of  port,  or  a  glass  of  old  whisky  and  water, 
it  is  the  rule  of  the  house  that  Janet  takes  a  chair  at  some 
distance,  and  nods  or  works  her  stocking,  as  she  may  be 
disposed  ;  ready  to  speak,  if  1  am  in  the  Balking  hurpcur 
528 


DO  CUUOMC-LliS    OF 

and  siting  quiet  as  a  mouse  if  I  am  ral'ier  inclined  to 
study  a  book  or  the  newspaper.  At  six  precisely  she  makes 
my  tea,  and  leaves  me  to  drink  it ;  and  then  occurs  an 
interval  of  time  which  most  old  bachelors  find  heavy  on 
their  hands.  The  theatre  is  a  good  occasional  resource, 
especially  if  Will  Murray  acts,  or  a  bright  star  of  emi- 
nence shines  forth  ;  but  it  is  distant,  and  so  are  one  or 
two  public  societies  to  which  I  belong  ;  besides,  these 
evening  walks  are  all  incompatible  with  the  elbow-chair 
feeling,  which  desires  some  employment  that  may  divert 
the  mind  without  fatiguing  the  body. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  impressions,  1  have  some- 
times thought  of  this  literary  undertaking.  I  must  have 
been  the  Bonassus  himself  to  have  mistaken  myself  for  a 
genius,  yet  1  have  leisure  and  reflections  like  my  neigh- 
bours. I  am  a  borderer  also  between  two  generations, 
ind  can  point  out  more  perhaps  than  others  of  those 
fading  traces  of  antiquity  which  are  daily  vanishing  ;  and 
I  know  many  a  modern  instance  and  many  an  old  tradi- 
tion, and  therefore  1  ask — 

What  ails  me,  I  may  not,  as  well  as  they, 

Rake  up  some  thread-hare  tales,  that  mouldering  lay 

In  chimney  corners,  wont  by  Christinas  fires 

To  read  and  rock  to  sleep  our  ancient  sires  ? 

No  man  his  threshold  better  knows,  than  I 

Brute's  first  arrival  and  first  victory, 

Saint  George's  sorrel  and  his  cross  of  blood, 

Arthur's  round  board  and  Caledonian  wood. 

No  shop  is  so  easily  set  up  as  an  antiquary's.  Like 
those  of  the  lowest  order  of  pawnbrokers,  a  commodity 
of  lusty  iron,  a  bag  or  two  of  hobnails,  a  few  odd  shoe- 
buckles,  cashiered  kail-pots,  and  fire-irons  declared  inca- 
pable of  service,  are  quite  sufficient  to  set  him  up.  If  he 
add  a  sheaf  or  two  of  penny  ballads  and  broadside^,  he 
is  a  great  man — an  extensive  trader.  And  then — like 
the  pawnbrokers  aforesaid,  if  the  author  understands  a 
little  legerdemain,  he  may,  by  dint  of  a  little  picking  and 
stealing,  make  the  inside  of  his  shop  a  great  deal  richer 
than  the  out,  and  be  able  to  show  you  things  which  cause 


THE    CAN ON GATE.  0 

ihose  who  do  not  understand  the  antiquarian  trick  of  clean 
conveyance,  to  wonder  how  the  devil  he  came  hy  them 

It  may  be  said,  that  antiquarian  articles  interest  but  few 
customers,  and  that  we  may  bawl  ourselves  as  rusty  as 
the  wares  we  deal  in  without  any  one  asking  the  price  01 
our  merchandize.  But  I  do  not  rest  my  hopes  upon  this 
department  of  my  labours  only.  I  propose  also  to  have 
a  corresponding  shop  for  Sentiment,  and  Dialogues,  and 
Disquisition,  which  may  captivate  the  fancy  of  those  who 
have  no  relish,  as  the  established  phrase  goes,  for  pure 
antiquity  ; — a  sort  of  green-grocer's  stall  erected  in  front 
of  my  ironmongery  wares,  garlanding  the  rusty  memorials 
of  ancient  times  with  cresses,  cabbages,  leeks,  and  water 
purpy. 

As  I  have  some  idea  that  I  am  writing  too  well  to  be 
understood,  I  humble  myself  to  ordinary  language,  and 
aver,  with  becoming  modesty,  that  1  do  think  myself  ca- 
pable of  sustaining  a  publication  of  a  miscellaneous  nature, 
as  like  to  the  Spectator,  or  the  Guardian,  the  Mirror,  or 
the  Lounger,  as  my  poor  abilities  may  be  able  to  accom- 
plish. Not  that  1  have  any  purpose  of  imitating  Johnson, 
whose  general  learning  and  power  of  expression  I  do  not 
deny,  but  many  of  whose  Ramblers  are  little  better  than 
a  sort  of  pageant,  where  trite  and  obvious  maxims  are 
made  to  swagger  in  lofty  and  mystic  language,  and  get 
some  credit  only  because  they  are  not  easily  understood. 
There  are  some  of  the  great  moralist's  papers  which  I 
cannot  peruse  without  thinking  on  a  second-rate  masquer- 
ade, where  the  best-known  and  least-esteemed  characters 
in  town  march  in  as  heroes,  and  sultans,  and  so  forth,  and 
by  dint  of  tawdry  dresses,  get  some  consideration  until 
they  are  found  out. — It  is  not,  however,  prudent  to  confl- 
uence with  throwing  stones,  just  when  1  am  striking  out 
windows  of  my  own. 

I  think  even  the  local  situation  of  Little  Croftangry 
may  be  considered  as  favourable  to  my  undertaking.  A 
nobler  contrast  there  can  hardly  eyist  than  that  of  the 
huge  city,  dark  with  the  smoke  of  ages,  and  groaning  with 
the  various  sounds  of  active  industry  or  idle  revel,  and  the 


88  CHROMCiES    OF 

iofty  and  craggy  hill,  silent  and  solitary  as  the  grave  ;  oiift 
exhibiting  the  full  tide  of  existence,  pressing  and  precip- 
itating itself  forward  with  the  force  of  an  inundation  ; 
the  other  resembling  some  time-worn  anchorite,  whose 
life  passes  as  silent  and  unobserved  as  the  slender  rill 
which  escapes  unheard,  and  scarce  seen,  from  the  fountain 
ui  his  patron  saint.  The  city  resembles  the  busy  temple, 
where  the  modern  Comus  and  Mammon  hold  their  court, 
and  thousands  sacrifice  ease,  independence,  and  virtue 
itself,  at  their  shrine  ;  the  misty  and  lonely  mountain  seems 
as  a  throne  to  the  majestic  but  terrible  Genius  of  feudal 
times,  when  the  same  divinities  dispensed  coronets  and 
domains  to  those  who  had  heads  to  devise,  and  arms  to 
execute, bold  enterprizes. 

I  have,  as  it  were,  the  two  extremities  of  the  morai 
world  at  my  threshold.  From  the  front  door,  a  few  min- 
utes' walk  brings  me  into  the  heart  of  a  wealthy  and  pop- 
ulous city  ;  as  many  paces  from  my  opposite  entrance, 
places  me  in  a  solitude  as  complete  as  Zimmerman  could 
have  desired.  Surely  with  such  aids  to  my  imagination, 
I  may  write  better  than  if  I  were  in  a  lodging  in  the  New 
Town,  or  a  garret  in  the  old.  As  the  Spaniard  says, 
"  Viamos — Caracco!" 

I  have  not  chosen  to  publish  periodically,  my  reason 
for  which  was  twofold.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  like  to 
be  hurried,  and  have  had  enough  of  duns  in  an  early  part 
of  my  life,  to  make  me  reluctant  to  hear  of,  or  see  one, 
even  in  the  less  awful  shape  of  a  printer's  devil.  But, 
secondly,  a  periodical  paper  is  not  easily  extended  in  cir- 
culation beyond  the  quarter  in  which  it  is  published.  This 
work,  if  published  in  fugitive  numbers,  would  scarce, 
without  a  high  pressure  on  the  part  of  the  bookseller,  be 
raised  above  the  Netherbow,  and  never  could  be  expected 
to  ascend  to  the  level  of  Prince's  Street.  Now  I  am 
amb'tious  that  my  compositions,  though  having  '.heir  origin 
in  this  Valley  of  Holyrood,  should  not  only  be  extended 
into  those  exalted  regions  I  have  mentioned,  but  als~>  that 
hat  they  should  cross  the  Forth,  astonish  the  lore  town 
)f  Rjrkaldy,  enchant  the  skippers  and  collier*  of  the 


THE    CANONGATE  69 

East  of  Fife,  venture  even  into  the  classic  arcades  of  St 
Andrews,  and  travel  as  much  farther  to  the  north  as  the 
breath  of  applause  will  carry  their  sails.  As  for  a  south- 
ward direction,  it  is  not  to  be  hoped  for  in  rny  fondest 
dreams,  i  am  informed  that  Scottish  literature,  like  Scot 
tish  whisky,  will  be  presently  laid  under  a  prohibitory  duty. 
But  enough  of  this.  If  any  reader  is  dull  enough  not  to 
comprehend  the  advantages  which,  in  point  of  circulation, 
a  compact  book  has  over  a  collection  of  fugitive  numbers, 
let  him  try  the  range  of  a  gun  loaded  with  hail-shot, 
against  that  of  the  same  piece  charged  with  an  equal 
weight  of  lead  consolidated  in  a  single  bullet. 

Besides,  it  was  of  less  consequence  that  I  should  have 
published  periodically,  since  I  did  not  mean  to  solicit  or 
accept  of  the  contributions  of  friends,  or  the  criticisms 
of  those  who  may  be  less  kindly  disposed.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  excellent  examples  which  might  be  quoted,  I  will 
establish  no  begging-box,  either  under  the  name  of  a 
lion's-head  or  an  ass's.  What  is  good  or  ill  shall  be  mine 
own,  or  the  contribution  of  friends  to  whom  I  may  have 
private  access.  Many  of  my  voluntary  assistants  might 
be  clev  rer  than  myself,  and  then  I  should  have  a  brilliant 
article  appear  among  my  chiller  effusions,  like  a  patch  of 
lace  on  a  Scottish  cloak  of  Galashiels  grey.  Some  might 
be  worse,  and  then  1  must  reject  them,  to  the  injury  of 
the  feelings  of  the  writer,  or  else  insert  them,  to  make  my 
own  darkness  yet  more  opaque  and  palpable.  "  Let 
every  herring,"  says  our  old-fashioned  proverb,  "  hang 
by  his  own  head." 

One  person,  however,  I  may  distinguish,  as  she  is  now 
no  more,  who,  living  to  the  utmost  term  of  human  life, 
honoured  me  with  a  great  share  of  her  friendship,  as  in- 
deed we  were  blood-relatives  in  the  Scottish  sense — 
Heaven  knows  how  many  degrees  removed — and  friends 
in  the  sense  of  Old  England.  I  mean  the  late  excellent 
and  regretted  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol.  But  as  I  design  this 
admirable  picture  of  the  olden  time  for  a  principle  char- 
acter in  my  work,  I  will  only  say  here,  that  she  knew  ind 
approved  of  my  present  purpose  ;  and  though  she  declin- 


70  CIIHOMCLES    OF 

ed  to  contribute  to  it  while  she  lived,  from  a  sense  of  dig- 
nified retirement,  which  she  thought  became  her  age,  sex, 
and  condition  in  life,  she  left  me  some  materials  for  car- 
rying on  my  proposed  work,  which  I  coveted  when  I 
heard  her  detail  them  in  conversation,  and  which  now, 
when  I  have  their  substance  in  her  own  handwriting,  I  ac- 
count far  more  valuable  than  anything  I  have  myself  to 
offer.  I  hope  the  mentioning  her  name  in  conjunction 
with  my  own,  will  give  no  offence  to  any  of  her  numer- 
ous friends,  as  it  was  her  own  express  pleasure  that  I 
should  employ  the  manuscripts,  which  she  did  me  the 
honour  to  bequeath  me,  in  the  manner  in  which  1  have 
now  used  them.  It  must  be  added,  however,  that  in  most 
cases  1  have  disguised  names,  and  in  some  have  added 
shading  and  colouring  to  bring  out  the  narrative. 

Much  of  my  materials,  besides  these,  are  derived  from 
friends,  living  or  dead.  The  accuracy  of  some  of  these 
may  be  doubtful,  in  which  case  I  shall  be  happy  to 
receive,  from  sufficient  authority,  the  correction  of  the 
errors  which  must  creep  into  traditional  documents.  The 
object  of  the  whole  publication  is,  to  throw  some  light 
on  the  manners  of  Scotland  as  they  were,  and  to  con- 
trast them,  occasionally,  with  those  of  the  present  day. 
IVIy  own  opinions  ate  in  favour  of  our  own  times 
in  many  respects,  but  not  in  so  far  as  affords  means 
for  exercising  the  imagination,  or  exciting  the  interest 
which  attaches  to  other  times.  I  am  glad  to  be  a  writer 
or  a  reader  in  1826,  but  1  would  be  most  interested  in 
reading  or  relating  what  happened  from  half  a  century 
to  a  century  before.  We  have  the  best  of  it.  Scenes 
in  which  our  ancestors  thought  deeply,  acted  fiercely,  and 
died  desperately,  are  to  us  tales  to  divert  the  tedium  of  a 
winter's  evening,  when  we  are  engaged  to  no  party,  or 
beguile  a  summer's  morning,  when  it  is  too  scorching  to 
ride  or  walk. 

Yet  I  do  not  mean  that  my  essays  and  narratives  should 
be  limited  to  Scotland.  I  pledge  myself  to  no  particular 
line  of  subjects  ;  but,  or,  the  contrary,  say  with  Burns. 


THE    CANO1NGATE. 

Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 
Perhaps  turn  out  a  sermon. 

I  have  only  to  add,  by  way  of  postscript  to  these  prelim- 
inary chapters,  that  1  have  had  recourse  to  JVloliere's  re- 
cipe, and  read  my  manuscript  over  to  my  old  woman 
Janet  MicEvoy. 

The  dignity  of  being  consulted  delighted  Janet  ;  and 
Wilkie,  or  Allan,  would  have  made  a  capital  sketch  of  her, 
as  she  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  instead  of  her  ordinary 
lounging  posture,  knitting  her  stocking  systematically,  as 
if  she  meant  every  twist  of  her  thread,  and  inclination  of 
the  wires,  to  bear  burden  to  the  cadence  of  my  voice. 
1  am  afraid,  too,  that  I  myself  felt  more  delight  than  I 
ought  to  have  done  in  my  own  composition,  and  read  a 
little  more  oratorical!)'  than  I  should  have  ventured  to  do 
before  an  auditor,  of  whose  applause  I  was  not  so  secure. 
And  the  result  did  not  entirely  encourage  my  plan  of  cen- 
sorship. Janet  did  indeed  seriously  incline  to  the  account 
of  my  previous  life,  and  bestowed  some  Highland  male- 
dictions more  emphatic  than  courteous  on  Christie  Steele's 
reception  of  a  "  shentlemans  in  distress,"  and  of  her  own 
mistress's  house  too.  I  omitted,  for  certain  reasons,  or 
greatly  abridged,  what  related  to  herself.  But  when  I 
came  to  treat  of  my  general  views  in  publication,  I  saw 
poor  Janet  was  entirely  thrown  out,  though,  like  a  jaded 
hunter,  panting,  puffing,  and  short  of  wind,  she  endeav- 
oured at  least  to  keep  up  with  the  chase.  Or  rather  hei 
perplexity  made  her  look  all  the  while  like  a  deaf  person 
ashamed  of  his  infirmity,  who  does  not  understand  a  word 
you  are  saying,  yet  desires  you  to  believe  that  he  does  un- 
derstand you,  and  who  is  extremely  jealous  that  you  sus- 
pect his  incapacity.  When  she  saw  that  some  remark 
was  necessary,  she  resembled  exactly  in  her  criticism  the 
devotee  who  pitched  on  the  "  sweet  word  Mesopotamia," 
iis  the  most  edifying  note  which  she  could  I  ring  away  from 
a  sermon.  She  indeed  hastened  to  bestow  general  praise 
on  what  she  said  was  all  "  very  fine  ;"  but  chiefly  dwelt 
D  what  I  haJ  said  about  Mr.  Timmerman,  ?s  she  w 


72  CHROMCLES    OF 

pleased  to  call  the  German  philosopher,  and  supposed  he 
must  be  of  the  same  descent  with  the  Highland  clan  ol 
M'Intyre,  which  signifies  Son  of  the  Carpenter.  "  AnJ 
a  fery  honourable  name  too — Shanet's  own  mither  was  a 
M'Intyre." 

In  short,  it  was  plain  the  latter  part  of  my  intriduction 
was  altogether  lost  on  poor  Janet  ;  and  so,  to  have  acted 
up  to  Moliere's  system,  1  should  have  cancelled  the  whole, 
and  written  it  anew.  But  I  do  not  know  how  it  is ;  I  re- 
tained, I  suppose,  some  tolerable  opinion  of  my  own  com- 
position, though  Janet  did  not  comprehend  it,  and  felt 
loath  to  retrench  those  delilahs  of  the  imagination,  as 
Dryden  calls  them,  the  tropes  and  figures  of  which  are 
caviar  to  the  multitude.  Besides,  I  hate  re-writing, 
as  much  as  Falstaff  did  paying  back — it  is  a  double 
labour.  So  1  determined  with  myself  to  consult  Janet, 
in  future,  only  on  such  things  as  were  within  the  limits  of 
her  comprehension,  and  hazard  my  arguments  and  my 
rhetoric  on  the  public  without  her  imprimatur.  I  am 
pretty  sure  she  will  "  applaud  it  done."  And  in  such 
narratives  as  come  within  her  range  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing, I  shall,  as  I  first  intended,  take  the  benefit  of  her 
unsophisticated  judgment,  and  attend  to  it  deferentially — 
that  is,  when  it  happens  not  to  be  in  peculiar  opposition  to 
my  own  ;  for,  after  all,  I  say  with  Almanzor — 

Know  that  I  alone  am  king  of, me. 

w 

The  reader  has  now  my  who  and  my  whereabout,  the 
purpose  of  the  work,  and  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  is  undertaken.  He  has  also  a  specimen  of  the  author's 
talents,  and  may  judge  for  himself,  and  proceed,  or  send 
back  the  volume  to  the  bookseller,  as  his  ovi  ta-f.e  shall 
determine. 


THE    CANONGATE.  J* 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.  CROFTANGRY'S  ACCOUNT  OF  MRS.  BETHUNE  BAI.IOL 

The  moon,  were  she  earthly,  no  nobler. 

Coriolanus. 

WHEN  we  set  out  on  the  jolly  voyage  of  life,  what  a 
brave  fleet  there  is  around  us,  as  stretching  our  fresh  can- 
vass to  the  breeze,  all  "  ship-shape  and  Bristol  fashion," 
pennons  flying,  music  playing,  cheering  each  other  as  we 
pass,  we  are  rather  amused  than  alarmed  when  some  awk- 
ward comrade  goes  right  ashore  for  want  of  pilotage  ! — 
Alas  !  when  the  voyage  is  well  spent,  and  we  look  about 
us,  toil-worn  mariners,  how  few  of  our  ancient  consorts 
still  remain  in  sight,  and  they,  how  torn  and  wasted,  and, 
like  ourselves,  struggling  to  keep  as  long  as  possible  ofl 
the  fatal  shore,  against  which  we  are  all  finally  drifting  ! 

J  felt  this  very  trite  but  melancholy  truth  in  all  its  force 
the  other  day,  when  a  packet  with  a  black  seal  arrived, 
containing  a  letter  addressed  to  me  by  my  late  excellent 
friend  Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol,  and  marked  with  the 
fatal  indorsation,  "  To  be  delivered  according  to  address, 
after  I  shall  be  no  more."  A  letter  from  her  executors 
accompanied  the  packet,  mentioning  that  they  had  found 
in  her  will  a  bequest  to  me  of  a  painting  of  some  value 
which  she  stated  would  just  fit  the  space  above  my  cup- 
board, and  fifty  guineas  to  buy  a  ring.  And  thus  I  sep- 
arated, with  all  the  kindness  which  we  had  maintained  for 
many  years,  from  a  friend,  who,  though  old  enough  to- 
have  been  the  companion  of  my  mother,  was  yet,  in  gaiety 
of  spirits,  and  admirable  sweetness  of  temper,  capable  oi 
being  agreeable,  and  even  animating  society,  for  those 
who  write  themselves  in  the  vaward  of  youth  ;  an  advan- 
tage which  I  have  lost  for  these  five-and-thirty  years 
The  contents  of  the  packet  I  had  no  difficulty  ;n  guess 
voi,.  i. 


<4  CHRONICLES    OK 

ing,  and  have  pally  hinted  at  them  in  the  last  chapter 
But  to  instruct  the  reader  in  the  particulars,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  indulge  myself  with  recalling  the  virtues  and 
agreeable  qualities  of  my  late  friend,  I  will  give  a  short 
sketch  of  her  manners  and  habits. 

Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol  was  a  person  of  quality 
and  fortune,  as  these  are  esteemed  in  Scotland.  Her 
fain'ly  was  ancient,  and  her  connexions  honourable.  She 
was  not  fond  of  specially  indicating  her  exact  age,  but  her 
juvenile  recollections  stretched  backwards  till  before  the 
eventful  year  1745  ;  and  she  remembered  the  Highland 
clans  being  in  possession  of  the  Scottish  capital,  though 
probably  only  as  an  indistinct  vision.  Her  fortune,  inde- 
pendent by  her  father's  bequest,  was  rendered  opulent  by 
the  death  of  more  than  one  brave  brother,  who  fell  suc- 
cessively in  the  service  of  their  country  ;  so  that  the 
family  estates  became  vested  in  the  only  surviving  child 
of  the  ancient  house  of  Bethune  Baliol.  My  intimacy  was 
formed  with  the  excellent  lady  after  this  event,  and  when 
she  was  already  something  advanced  in  age. 

She  inhabited,  when  in  Edinburgh,  where  she  regularly 
spent  the  winter  season,  one  of  those  old  hotels,  which, 
till  of  late,  were  to  be  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the. 
Canongate,  and  of  the  Palace  of  Holyrood-house,  and 
which,  separated  from  the  street,  now  dirty  and  vulgar,  by 
paved  courts,  and  gardens  of  some  extent,  made  amends 
for  an  indifferent  access,  by  showing  something  of  aristo- 
crartic  state  and  seclusion,  when  you  were  once  admitted 
within  their  precincts.  They  have  pulled  her  house 
down  ;  for,  indeed,  betwixt  building  and  burning,  every 
ancient  monument  of  the  Scottish  capital  is  now  likely  to 
be  utterly  demolished.  I  pause  on  the  recollections  of 
the  place,  however  ;  and  since  nature  has  denied  a  pencil 
when  she  placed  a  pen  in  my  hand,  I  will  endeavour  to 
make  words  answer  the  purpose  of  delineation. 

Baliol's  Lodging,  so  was  the  mansion  named,  reared  its 
high  stack  of  chimneys,  among  which  were  seen  a  turret 
or  two,  and  one  of  those  small  projecting  platforms  called 
bartizans.,  above  the  mean  and  modern  buildings  whicb 


THE    CAXONGATE.  7o 

line  the  sorth  siile  of  the  Canongate,  towards  the  lovvet 
pnd  of  that  street,  and  not  distant  from  the  palace.  A 
vorte  cochere,  having  a  wicket  for  foot  passengers,  was, 
upon  due  occasion,  unfolded  by  a  lame  old  man,  tall,  grave, 
and  thin,  who  tenanted  a  hovel  beside  the  gate,  and  acted 
as  porter.  To  this  office  he  had  been  promoted  by  my 
friend's  charitable  feelings  for  an  old  soldier,  and  partly 
by  at  idea,  that  his  head,  which  was  a  very  fine  one,  bore 
some  resemblance  to  that  of  Garrick  in  the  character  of 
Lusignan.  He  was  a  man  saturnine,  silent,  and  slow  in 
his  proceedings,  and  would  never  open  the  porte  cochere 
to  a  hackney  coach  ;  indicating  the  wicket  with  his  finger, 
as  the  proper  passage  for  all  who  came  in  that  obscure 
vehicle,  which  was  not  permitted  to  degrade  with  its  tick- 
eted presence  the  dignity  of  Baliol's  Lodging.  I  d;>  not 
think  this  peculiarity  would  have  met  with  his  lady's  ap- 
probation, any  more  than  the  occasional  partiality  of  Lu- 
signan,  or,  as  mortals  called  him,  Archy  Macready,  to  a 
dram.  But  Mrs.  Martha  Bethnne  Baliol,  conscious  that, 
in  case  of  conviction,  she  could  never  have  prevailed  upon 
herself  to  dethrone  the  King  of  Palestine  from  the  stone 
bench  on  which  he  sat  for  hours,  knitting  his  stocking, 
refused,  by  accrediting  the  intelligence,  even  to  put  him 
upon  his  trial  ;  well  judging,  that  he  would  observe  more 
wholesome. caution  if  he  conceived  his  character  unsus- 
pected, than  if  he  were  detected,  and  suffered  to  pass  un- 
punished. For  after  all,  she  said,  it  would  be  cruel  to 
dismiss  an  old  Highland  soldier,  for  a  peccadillo  so  appro- 
priate to  his  country  ai  d  profession. 

The  stately  gate  for  carriages,  or  the  humble  accom- 
moclat'on  for  foot  passengers,  admitted  into  a  narrow  and 
short  passage,  running  between  two  rows  of  lime-trees, 
whose  green  foliage,  during  the  spring,  contrasted  strange- 
ly with  the  swart  complexion  of  the  two  walls  by  the  side 
of  which  they  grew.  This  access  led  to  the  front  of  the 
bouse,  which  was  formed  by  two  gable  ends,  notched, 
and  having  their  windows  adorned  with  heavy  architec- 
tural ornaments  ;  they  joined  each  other  at  right  angles; 
and  a  half  circular  tower,  which  contained  the  entrance 


CHRONICLES    OF 

and  the  staircase,  occupied  the  point  of  junction,  ana 
rounded  the  acute  angle.  One  ol  oilier  two  sides  of  the 
little  court,  in  which  there  was  just  sufficient  rcotn  to 
turn  a  carriage,  was  occupied  by  some  low  buildings  an- 
swering the  purpose  of  offices  ;  the  other,  by  a  parapet 
surrounded  by  a  highly-ornamented  iron  railing,  twined 
round  with  honeysuckle  and  other  parasitical  shrubs, 
which  permitted  the  eye  to  peep  into  a  pretty  suburban 
garden,  extending  down  to  the  road  called  the  South  Back 
of  the  Canongate,  and  boasting  a  number  of  old  trees, 
many  flowers,  and  even  some  fruit.  We  must  not  forget 
to  state,  that  the  extreme  cleanliness  of  the  court-yard  was 
such  as  intimated  that  mop  and  pail  had  done  their  utmost 
in  that  favoured  spot,  to  atone  for  the  general  dirt  and 
dinginess  of  the  quarter  where  the  premises  were  situated. 
Over  the  doorway  were  the  arms  of  Bethune  and  Ba- 
liol,  with  various  other  devices  carved  in  stone  ;  the  door 
itself  was  studded  with  iron  nails,  and  formed  of  black 
oak  ;  an  iron  rasp,14  as  it  was  called,  was  placed  on  it,  in- 
stead of  a  knocker,  for  the  purpose  of  summoning  the 
attendants.  He  who  usually  appeared  at  the  summons, 
was  a  smart  lad,  in  a  handsome  livery,  the  son  of  Mrs. 
Martha's  gardener  at  Mount  Baliol.  Now  and  then  a  ser- 
vant girl,  nicely  but  plainly  dressed,  and  fully  accoutred 
with  stockings  and  shoes,  would  perform  this  duty  ;  and 
twice  or  thrice  I  remember  being  admitted  by  BeaufFet 
himself,  whose  exterior  looked  as  much  like  that  of  a 
clergyman  of  rank  as  the  butler  of  a  gentleman's  family. 
He  had  been  valet-de-chambre  to  the  last  Sir  Richard 
Bethune  Baliol,  and  was  a  person  highly  trusted  by  the 
present  lady.  A  full  stand,  as  it  is  called  in  Scotland,  ol 
garments  of  a  dark  colour,  gold  buckles  in  his  shoes,  and 
at  the  knees  of  his  breeches,  with  his  hair  regularly  dressed 
and  powdered,  announced  him  to  be  a  domestic  of  trust 
Bind  mportance.  His  mistress  used  to  say  of  him, 

He's  sad  and  civil, 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes 


THE    CANONGATE.  77 

As  no  one  can  escape  scandal,  some  said  thajt  Beauffet 
made  a  rather  better  thing  of  the  place  than  the  mod- 
esty of  his  old-fashioned  wages  would,  unassisted,  have 
amounted  to.  But  the  man  was  always  very  civil  to  me. 
He  had  been  long  in  the  family  ;  had  enjoyed  legacies, 
and  laid  by  a  something  of  his  own,  upon  which  he  now 
enjoys  ease  with  dignity,  in  as  far  as  his  newly-married 
wife,  Tibbie  Shortacres,  will  permit  him. 

The  Lodging — Dearest  reader,  if  you  are  tired,  pray 
pass  over  the  next  four  or  five  pages — was  not  by  any 
means  so  large  as  its  external  appearance  led  people  to 
conjecture.  The  interior  accommodation  was  much  cut 
up  by  cross  walls  and  long  passages,  and  that  neglect  ot 
economizing  space  which  characterizes  old  Scottish  archi- 
tecture. But  there  was  far  more  room  than  my  old  friend 
required,  even  when  she  had,  as  was  often  the  case,  four 
or  five  young  cousins  under  her  protection  ;  and  I  believe 
much  of  the  house  was  unoccupied.  Mrs.  Bethiine  Ba- 
liol  never,  in  rny  presence,  showed  herself  so  much  of- 
fended, as  once  with  a  meddling  person  who  advised  hei 
to  have  the  windows  of  these  supernumerary  apartments 
built  up,  to  save  the  tax.  She  said  in  ire,  that  while  she 
lived,  the  light  of  God  should  visit  the  house  of  her  fath- 
ers ;  and  while  she  had  a  penny,  king  and  country  should 
have  their  due.  Indeed,  she  was  punctiliously  loyal,  even 
in  that  most  staggering  test  of  loyalty,  the  payment  of  im- 
posts. Mr.  Beauffet  told  me  he  was  ordered  to  offer  a 
glass  of  wine  to  the  person  who  collected  the  income  tax, 
and  that  the  poor  man  wa<;  so  overcome  by  a  reception 
so  unwontedly  generous,  that  he  had  well  nigh  fainted  on 
the  spot. 

You  entered  by  a  matted  anteroom  into  the  eating  par 
•our,  filled  with  old-fashioned  furniture,  and  bung  with 
family  portraits,  which,  excepting  one  of  Sir  Bernard  Be- 
thune,  in  James  the  Sixth's  time,  said  to  be  by  Jameson, 
were  exceedingly  frightful.  A  saloon,  as  it  was  called, 
a  long  narrow  chamber,  led  out  of  the  dining-parlour. 
suid  served  for  a  drawing-room.  It  was  a  pleasant  apart- 

VOL.     I 


<&  CJlKOiMC-LES    OF 

ment,  looking  out  upon  the  south  flank  of  HolyrooJ-house 
the  gigantic  slope  of  Arthur's  Seat,  and  the  girdle  of  lofty 
rocks,  called  Salishury  Crags  ;15objects  so  rudely  wild, 
that  the  mind  can  hardly  conceive  them  to  exist  in  the. 
vicinage  of  a  populous  metropolis.  The  paintings  of  the 
saloon  came  from  abroad,  and  had  some  of  them  much 
merit.  To  see  the  best  of  them,  however,  you  must  be 
admitted  into  the  very  penetralia  of  the  temple,  and  al- 
lowed to  draw  the  tapestry  at  the  upper  end  of  the  saloon, 
and  enter  Mrs.  Martha's  own  special  dressing-room.  This 
was  a  charming  apartment,  of  which  it  would  be  difficult 
to  describe  the  form,  it  had  so  many  recesses  which  were 
filled  up  with  shelves  of  ebony,  and  cabinets  of  japan  and 
or  molu  ;  some  for  holding  books,  of  which  Mrs.  Martha 
had  an  admirable  collection,  some  for  a  display  of  orna- 
mental china,  others  for  shells  and  similar  curiosities.  In 
a  little  niche,  half  screened  by  a  curtain  of  crimson  silk, 
was  disposed  a  suit  of  tilting  armour  of  bright  steel,  in- 
laid with  silver,  which  had  been  worn  on  some  memora- 
ble occasion  by  Sir  Bernard  Bethune,  already  mentioned  ; 
while  over  the  canopy  of  the  niche,  hung  the  broad-sword 
with  which  her  father  had  attempted  to  change  the  for- 
tunes of  Britain  in  1715,  and  the  spontoon  which  her 
elder  brother  bore  when  be  was  leading  on  a  company  of 
the  Black-Watch  at  Fontenoy.16 

There  were  some  Italian  and  Flemish  pictures  of  ad- 
mitted authenticity,  a  few  genuine  bronzes  and  other  ob- 
jects of  curiosity,  which  her  brothers  or  herself  had  picked 
up  while  abroad.  In  short,  it  was  a  place  where  the  idle 
were  tempted  to  become  studious,  the  studious  to  grow 
die — where  the  grave  might  find  matter  to  make  them 
gay,  and  the  gay  subjects  for  gravity. 

That  it  might  maintain  some  title  to  its  name,  }  must 
not  forget  to  say,  that  the  lady's  dressing-rooMi  exhibited 
a  superb  mirror,  framed  in  silver  filigree  work  ;  a  oeau- 
tiful  toilette,  the  cover  of  which  was  of  Flanders  Jace  • 
and  a  set  of  boxes  corresponding  in  materials  and  work  to 
die  frame  of  the  mirror. 


THE    CANOJNGATJB.  79 

Tliis  dressing  apparatus,  however,  was  mere  matter  o 
parade  :  Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol  always  went  through 
the  actual  duties  of  the  toilette  in  an  inner  apartment, 
which  corresponded  with  her  sleeping-room  by  a  smal 
detached  staircase.  There  were,  I  believe,  more  than 
one  of  those  turnpike  stairs,  as  they  were  called,  about 
the  house,  by  which  the  public  rooms,  all  of  which  entered 
through  each  other,  were  accommodated  with  separate 
and  independent  modes  of  access.  In  the  little  boudoir 
we  have  described,  Mrs.  Martha  Baliol  had  her  choicest 
meetings.  She  kept  early  hours  ;  and  if  you  went  in  the 
morning,  you  must  not  reckon  that  space  of  day  as  ex- 
tending beyond  three  o'clock,  or  four  at  the  utmost. 
These  vigilant  habits  were  attended  with  some  restraint  on 
her  visiters,  but  they  were  indemnified  by  your  always 
finding  the  best  society,  and  the  best  information,  which 
was  to  be  had  for  the  day  in  the  Scottish  capital.  With- 
out at  all  affecting  the  blue  stocking,  she  liked  books — 
they  amused  her — and  if  the  authors  were  persons  of 
character,  she  thought  she  owed  them  a  debt  of  civility, 
which  she  loved  to  discharge  by  personal  kindness.  When 
she  gave  a  dinner  to  a  small  party  which  she  did  now 
and  then,  she  had  the  good-nature  to  look  for,  and  the  good 
luck  to  discover,  what  sort  of  people  suited  each  other 
best,  and  chose  her  company  as  Duke  Theseus  did  his 
hounds, 

matcb'd  in  mouth  like  bells, 

Each  under  each.17 

so  that  every  guest  could  take  his  part  in  the  cry  ;  nstead 
of  one  mighty  Tom  of  a  fellow,  like  Dr.  Johnson,  silenc- 
ng  all  besides  by  the  tremendous  depth  of  his  diapason 
On  such  occasions  she  offered  chere  exqulse  ;  and  every 
now  and  then  there  was  some  dish  of  French,  or  even 
Scottish  derivation,  which,  as  well  as  the  numerous  assort- 
ment of  vins  extraordinaires  produced  by  Mr.  Beauffet, 
gave  a  sort  of  antique  and  foreign  air  to  the  entertainment 
which  rendered  it  more  interesting. 


80 


CHROMCLES    OF 


ft  was  a  great  thing  to  be  asked  tc  such  parties,  and 
not  less  so  to  be  invited  to  the  early  conversazione,  which, 
in  spite  of  fashion,  by  dint  of  the  best  cofiee,  the  fines1 
tea,  and  c/iasse  cafe  that  would  have  called  the  dead  tc 
life,  she  contrived  now  and  then  to  assemble  in  her  saloon 
already  mentioned,  at  the  unnatural  hour  of  eight  in  the 
evening.  At  such  times,  the  cheerful  old  lady  seemed  to 
enjoy  herself  so  much  in  the  happiness  of  her  guests,  that 
they  exerted  themselves  in  turn  to  prolong  her  amusement 
and  their  own  ;  and  a  certain  charm  was  excited  around, 
seldom  to  be  met  with  in  parties  of  pleasure,  and  which 
was  founded  on  the  general  desire  of  every  one  present 
to  contribute  something  to  the  common  amusement. 

But  although  it  was  a  great  privilege  to  be  admitted  to 
wait  on  rny  excellent  friend  in  the  morning,  or  to  be  in- 
vited to  her  dinner  or  evening  parties,  I  prized  still  higher 
the  right  which  1  had  acquired,  by  old  acquaintance,  of 
visiting  Baliol's  Lodging,  upon  the  chance  of  finding  its 
venerable  inhabitant  preparing  for  tea,  just  about  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  It  was  only  to  two  or  three  old 
friends  that  she  permitted  this  freedom,  nor  was  this  sort 
of  chance-party  ever  allowed  to  extend  itself  beyond  five 
in  number.  The  answer  to  those  who  came  later,  an- 
nounced that  the  company  was  filled  up  for  the  evening  ; 
which  had  the  double  effect,  of  making  those  who  waited 
on  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  in  this  unceremonious  manner 
punctual  in  observing  her  hour,  and  of  adding  the  zest  ot 
a  little  difficulty  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  party. 

It  more  frequently  happened  that  only  one  or  two  per- 
sons partook  of  this  refreshment  on  the  same  evening  ; 
or,  supposing  the  case  of  a  single  gentleman,  Mrs.  Mar- 
tha, though  she  did  not  hesitate  to  admit  him  to  her  bou- 
doir, after  the  privilege  of  the  French  and  the  old  Scottish 
school,  took  care,  as  she  used  to  say,  to  preserve  all  pos- 
sible propriety,  by  commanding  the  attendance  of  her 
principal  female  attendant,  Mrs.  Alice  Lambskin,  who 
might,  from  the  gravity  and  dignity  of  her  appearance, 
have  sufficed  to  matronize  a  whole  boarding-school,  in- 
Htc;i(!  >f  one  maiden  lady  of  eighty  and  upwards.  A. 


THE    CANONGATE.  81 

the  weather  permitted,  Mrs.  Alice  sat  duly  remote  from 
the  company  in  a  fauteuil  behind  the  projecting  chimney- 
piece,  or  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and  prosecuted 
in  Carthusian  silence,  with  indefatigable  zeal,  a  piece  of 
embroidery,  which  seemed  no  bad  emblem  of  eternity. 

But  I  have  neglected  all  this  while  to  introduce  rny 
friend  herself  to  the  reader,  at  least  so  far  as  words  can 
convey  the  peculiarities  by  which  her  appearance  and  con- 
versation were  distinguished. 

A  little  woman,  with  ordinary  features  and  an  ordinary 
form,  and  hair,  which  in  youth  had  no  decided  colour,  we 
may  believe  Mrs.  Martha,  when  she  said  of  herself  that 
she  was  never  remarkable  for  personal  charms  ;  a  modest 
admission,  which  was  readily  confirmed  by  certain  old 
ladies,  her  contemporaries,  who,  whatever  might  have  been 
the  youthful  advantages  which  they  more  than  hinted  had 
been  formally  their  own  share,  were  now,  in  personal  ap- 
pearance, as  well  as  in  every  thing  else,  far  inferior  to  my 
accomplished  friend.  Mrs.  Martha's  features  had  been 
of  a  kind  which  might  be  said  to  wear  well ;  their  irreg- 
ularity was  now  of  little  consequence,  animated  as  they 
were  by  the  vivacity  of  her  conversation  ;  her  teeth  were 
excellent,  and  her  eyes,  although  inclining  to  grey,  were 
lively,  laughing,  and  undimmed  by  time.  A  slight  shade 
•f  complexion,  more  brilliant  than  her  years  promised, 
subjected  my  friend  amongst  strangers  to  the  suspicion  ot 
having  stretched  her  foreign  habits  as  far  as  the  prudent 
touch  of  the  rouge.  But  it  was  a  calumny ;  for  when 
telling  or  listening  to  an  interesting  and  affecting  story,  I 
liave  seen  her  colour  come  and  go  as  if  it  played  on  the 
cheek  of  eighteen. 

Her  hair,  whatever  its  former  deficiencies,  was  now 
the  most  beautiful  white  that  time  could  bleach,  and  was 
disposed  with  some  degree  of  pretension,  though  in  the 
simplest  manner  possible,  so  as  to  appear  neatly  smoothed 
under  a  cap  of  Flanders  lace,  of  an  old-fashioned,  but, 
as  I  thought,  of  a  very  handsome  form,  which  undouh  - 
edl  >  has  a  name,  and  I  would  endeavour  to  recur  to  it 
if  I  thought  it  would  make  my  description  a  bit  more  in 
529 


B2  CHRONICLES    OF 

tellig  ble.  I  think  I  have  heard  her  say  these  favourite 
caps  had  been  her  mother's,  and  had  come  in  fashion 
with  a  peculiar  kind  of  wig  used  by  the  gentlemen  about 
the  time  of  the  battle  of  Ramillies.  The  rest  of  her  dress 
was  always  rather  costly  and  distinguished,  especially  in 
the  evening.  A  silk  or  satin  gown  of  some  colour  becom- 
ing her  age,  and  of  a  form,  which,  though  complying  to 
a  certain  degree  with  the  present  fashion,  had  always  a 
reference  to  some  more  distant  period,  was  garnished  with 
triple  ruffles  ;  her  shoes  had  diamond  buckles,  and  were 
raised  a  little  at  heel,  an  advantage  which,  possessed  in 
her  youth,  she  alleged  her  size  would  not  permit  her  to 
forego  in  her  old  age.  She  always  wore  rings,  bracelets, 
and  other  ornaments  of  value,  either  for  the  materials  or 
the  workmanship  ;  nay,  perhaps  she  was  a  little  profuse 
in  this  species  of  display.  But  she  wore  them  as  subor- 
dinate matters,  to  which  the  habits  of  being  constantly  in 
high  life  rendered  her  indifferent ;  she  wore  them  because 
her  rank  required  it,  and  thought  no  more  of  them  as 
articles  of  finery,  than  a  gentleman  dressed  for  dinner 
thinks  of  his  clean  linen  and  well-brushed  coat,  the  con- 
sciousness of  which  embarrasses  the  rustic  beau  on  a 
Sunday. 

Now  and  then,  however,  if  a  gem  or  ornament  chanced 
to  be  noticed  for  its  beauty  or  singularity,  the  observation 
usually  led  the  way  to  an  entertaining  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  had  been  acquired,  or  the  person  from 
whom  it  had  descended  to  its  present  possessor.  On  such 
and  similar  occasions  my  old  friend  spoke  willingly,  which 
is  not  uncommon,  but  she  also,  which  is  more  rare,  spoke 
remarkably  well,  and  had  in  her  little  narratives  concern- 
ing foreign  parts,  or  former  days,  which  formed  an  inter- 
esting part  of  her  conversation,  the  singular  art  of  dismis- 
sing all  the  usual  protracted  tautology  respecting  time, 
place,  and  circumstances,  which  is  apt  to  settle  like  a  mist 
upon  the  cold  and  languid  tales  of  age,  and  at  the  same 
time  of  bringing  forward,  dwelling  upon,  and  illustrating/ 
those  incidents  and  characters  which  give  point  and  in 
terest  to  the  story. 


THE    CANONGATE.  83 

Sli3  had,  as  we  have  hinted,  travelled  a  good  deal  in 
foieign  countries;  for  a  brother,  to  whom  she  was  much 
attached,  had  been  sent  upon  various  missions  of  national 
importance  to  the  continent,  and  she  had  more  than  once 
embraced  the  opportunity  of  accompanying  him.  Thia 
furnished  a  great  addition  to  the  information  which  she 
could  supply,  especially  during  the  last  war,  when  the  con- 
tinent was  for  so  many  years  hermetically  sealed  against 
the  English  nation.  But,  besides,  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol 
visited  distant  countries,  not  in  the  modern  fashion,  when 
English  travel  in  caravans  together,  and  see  in  France 
and  Italy  little  besides  the  same  society  which  they  might 
have  enjoyed  at  home.  On  the  contrary,  she  mingled 
when  abroad  with  the  natives  of  those  countries  she  visited, 
and  enjoyed  at  once  the  advantage  of  their  society,  and 
the  pleasure  of  comparing  it  with  that  of  Britain. 

In  the  course  of  her  becoming  habituated  with  foreign 
manners,  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  had,  perhaps,  acquired 
some  slight  tincture  of  them  herself.  Yet  I  was  al- 
ways persuaded,  that  the  peculiar  vivacity  of  look  and 
manner — the  pointed  and  appropriate  action  with  which 
she  accompanied  what  she  said — the  use  of  the  gold  and 
gemmed  labaticre,  or  rather  I  should  say  bonbonniere, 
(for  she  took  no  snuff,  and  the  little  box  contained  only  a 
few  pieces  of  candied  angelica,  or  some  such  lady-like 
sweetmeat,)  were  of  real  old-fashioned  Scottish  growth, 
and  such  as  might  have  graced  the  tea-table  of  Susannah, 
Countess  of  Eglinton,18the  patroness  of  Allan  Ramsay,  or 
of  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Colonel  Ogilvy,  who  was  another  mirror 
by  whom  the  maidens  of  Auld  Reekie  were  required  to 
dress  themselves.  Although  well  acquainted  with  the 
customs  of  other  countries,  her  manners  had  been  chiefly 
formed  in  her  own,  at  a  time  when  great  folk  lived  within 
little  space,  and  when  the  distinguished  names  of  the  high- 
est society  gave  to  Edinburgh  the  eclat,  which  we  now 
endeavour  to  derive  from  the  unbounded  expense  and  ex- 
tended circle  of  our  pleasures. 

I  was  more  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  by  the  peculiarity 
of  th?  dialect  which  Mrs.  Baliol  used.  It  was  Scottish, 


£4  CHRONICLES    OF 

decidedly  Scottish,  often  containing  phrases  and  worda 
little  used  in  the  present  day.  But  then  her  tone  and  mode 
of  pronunciation  were  as  different  from  the  usual  accent 
of  the  ordinary  Scotch  patois,  as  the  accent  of  St.  James's 
is  from  that  of  Billingsgate.  The  vowels  were  not  pro- 
nounced much  broader  than  in  the  Italian  language,  and 
there  was  none  of  the  disagreeable  drawl  which  is  so  of- 
fensive to  southern  ears.  In  short,  it  seemed  to  be  the 
Scottish  as  spoken  by  the  ancient  court  of  Scotland,  to 
which  no  idea  of  vulgarity  could  be  attached  ;  and  the 
lively  manner  and  gestures  with  which  it  was  accompa- 
nied, were  so  completely  in  accord  with  the  sound  of  the 
voice  and  the  style  of  talking,  that  I  cannot  assign  them 
a  different  origin.  In  long  derivation,  perhaps  the  manner 
of  the  Scottish  court  might  have  been  originally  formed 
on  that  of  France,  to  which  it  had  certainly  some  affinity  j 
but  I  will  live  and  die  in  the  belief,  that  those  of  Mrs. 
Baliol,  as  pleasing  as  they  were  peculiar,  came  to  her  by 
direct  descent  from  the  high  dames  who  anciently  adorned 
with  their  presence  the  royal  halls  of  Holyrood. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MRS.  BALIOL  ASSISTS    MR.   CROFTANGRY  IN   HIS 
LITERARY    SPECULATIONS. 

SUCH  as  I  have  described  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol,  the 
reader  will  easily  believe  that  when  I  thought  of  the  mis- 
cellaneous nature  of  my  work,  I  rested  upon  the  informa- 
tion she  possessed,  and  her  communicative  disposition,  as 
one  of  the  principal  supports  of  my  enterprize.  Indeed, 
she  by  no  means  disapproved  of  my  proposed  publication, 
though  expressing  herself  very  doubtful  how  far  she  could 
personally  assist  it ;  a  doubt  which  might  be  perhaps  set 
down  to  a  little  lady-like  coquetry,  which  required  to  be 
sued  for  the  boon  she  was  not  unwilling  to  grant.  Or 
perhaps,  the  good  old  lady,  conscious  that  her  unusual 


THE    CAN ON GATE.  85 

term  ot  years  must  soon  draw  to  a  close,  preferred  be- 
queathing the  materials  in  the  shape  of  a  legacy,  to  sub- 
jecting them  to  the  judgment  of  a  critical  public  during 
her  lifetime. 

Many  a  time  I  used,  in  our  conversations  of  the  Can- 
ongate,  to  resume  rny  request  of  assistance,  from  a  sense 
that  my  friend  was  the  most  valuable  depositary  of  Scot- 
tish traditions  that  was  probably  now  to  be  found.  This 
was  a  subject  on  which  my  mind  was  so  much  made  up, 
that  when  1  heard  her  carry  her  description  of  manners  so 
far  back  beyond  her  own  time,  and  describe  how  Fletcher 
of  Salton  spoke,  how  Graham  of  Claverhouse  danced, 
what  were  the  jewels  worn  by  the  famous  Duchess  of 
Latiderdale,  and  how  she  came  by  them,  I  could  not  help 
telling  her  1  thought  her  some  fairy,  who  cheated  us  by 
retaining  the  appearance  of  a  mortal  of  our  own  day, 
when,  in  fact,  she  had  witnessed  the  revolutions  of  cen- 
turies. She  was  much  diverted  when  1  required  her  to 
take  some  solemn  oath  that  she  had  not  danced  at  the  balls 
given  by  Mary  of  Este,  when  her  unhappy  husband  oc- 
cupied Holyrood  in  a  species  of  honourable  banishment ; 
— or  asked,  whether  she  could  not  recollect  Charles  the 
Second,  when  lie  came  to  Scotland  in  1650,  and  did  not 
possess  some  slight  recollections  of  the  bold  usurper,  who 
drove  him  beyond  the  Forth. 

"  Beau  cousin,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  none  of  these  do 
I  remember  personally  ;  but  you  must  know  there  has 
been  wonderfully  little  change  on  my  natural  temper  from 
youth  to  age.  From  which  it  follows,  cousin,  that  being 
even  now  something  too  young  in  spirit  for  the  years 
which  Time  has  marked  me  in  his  calendar,  I  was,  when 
a  girl,  a  little  too  old  for  those  of  my  own  standing,  and  as 
much  inclined  at  that  period  10  keep  the  society  of  elder 
persons,  as  I  am  now  disposed  to  admit  the  company  of 
gay  young  fellows  of  fifty  or  sixty  like  yourself,  rather  than 
collect  about  me  all  the  octogenarians.  Now,  although  I 
do  not  actually  come  from  Elfland,  and  therefore  cannot 
Doast  any  personal  knowledge  of  the  great  personages  you 

VOL.     I. 


86 


CHRONICLES    OP 


/nquire  about,  yet  I  have  seen  and  heard  those  who  knew 
them  well,  and  who  have  given  me  as  distinct  an  account 
of  them  as  I  could  give  you  myself  of  the  Empress 
Queen,  or  Frederick  of  Prussia  ;  and  I  will  frankly  add," 
said  she,  laughing  and  offering  her  bonbonniere,  "  that  1 
have  heard  so  much  of  the  years  which  immediately  suc- 
ceeded the  Revolution,  that  I  sometimes  am  apt  to  con- 
fuse the  vivid  descriptions  fixed  on  my  memory  by  the 
frequent  and  animated  recitation  of  others,  for  things  which 
I  myself  have  actually  witnessed.  I  caught  myself  but 

yesterday  describing  to  Lord  M the  riding  of  the  last 

Scottish  Parliament,  with  as  much  minuteness  as  if  1  had 
seen  it,  as  my  mother  did,  from  the  balcony  in  front  of 
Lord  Moray's  Lodging  in  the  Canongate." 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  have  given  Lord  M a  high 

treat." 

"  I  treated  him  to  a  hearty  laugh,  I  believe,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  but  it  is  you,  you  vile  seducer  of  youth,  who  lead 
me  into  such  follies.  But  I  will  be  on  my  guard  against 
my  own  weakness.  I  do  not  well  know  if  the  wandering 
Jew  is  supposed  to  have  a  wife,  but  I  should  be  sorry  a 
decent  middle-aged  Scottish  gentlewoman  should  be  sus- 
pected of  identity  with  such  a  supernatural  person." 

"  For  all  that,  I  must  torture  you  a  little  more,  ma  belle 
cousine,  with  my  interrogatories  ;  for  how  shall  I  ever  turn 
author  unless  on  the  strength  of  the  information  which  you 
have  so  often  procured  me  on  the  ancient  state  of  man- 
ners <?" 

"  Stay,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  give  your  points  of  in- 
quiry a  name  so  very  venerable,  if  I  am  expected  to  an- 
swer them.  Ancient  is  a  term  for  antediluvians.  You 
may  catechise  me  about  the  battle  of  Flodden,  or  ask 
particulars  about  Bruce  and  Wallace,  under  pretext  of 
curiosity  after  ancient  manners  ;  and  that  last  subject 
would  wake  my  Baliol  blood  you  know." 

"  Well,  but,  Mrs.  Baliol,  suppose  we  settle  our  aera  :— 
you  do  not  call  the  accession  of  James  the  Sixth  to  the 
kingdom  of  Britain  very  ancient  *?" 


THE    CANONfiATK.  ^ 

a  Urnph  !  no,  cousin — I  think! could  tell  you  more  of 
that  than  folk  now-a-days  remember, — for  instance,  thai 
ns  James  was  trooping  towards  England,  bag  and  baggage, 
his  journey  was  stopped  near  Cockenzie  by  meeting  the 
funeral  of  the  Earl  of  Winton,  the  old  and  faithful  ser- 
vant and  follower  of  his  ill-fated  mother,  poo-  J\Jary  !  It 
was  an  ill  omen  for  the  infare,  and  so  was  seen  of  it, 
cousin."20 

I  did  not  choose  to  prosecute  this  subject,  well  knowing 
Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  did  not  like  to  be  much  pressed  on 
the  subject  of  the  Stuarts,  whose  misfortunes  she  pitied, 
the  rather  that  her  father  had  espoused  their  cause.  And 
yet  her  attachment  to  the  present  dynasty  being  very  sin- 
cere, and  even  ardent,  more  especially  as  her  family  had 
served  his  late  Majesty  both  in  peace  and  war,  she 
experienced  a  little  embarrassment  in  reconciling  her 
opinions  respecting  the  exiled  family,  with  those  she  en- 
tertained for  the  present.  In  fact,  like  many  an  old  Jaco- 
bite, she  was  contented  to  be  somewhat  inconsistent  on 
the  subject,  comforting  herself,  that  now  everything  stood 
as  it  ought  to  do,  and  that  there  was  no  use  in  looking 
back  narrowly  on  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  matter  half  a 
century  ago. 

"  The  Highlands,"  I  suggested,  "  should  furnish  you 
with  ample  subjects  of  recollection.  You  have  witnessed 
the  complete  change  of  that  primeval  country,  and  have 
seen  a  race  not  far  removed  from  the  earliest  period  of 
society,  melted  down  into  the  great  mass  of  civilization  ; 
and  that  could  net  happen  without  incidents  striking  in 
themselves,  and  curious  as  chapters  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race." 

"  It  is  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Baliol ;  "  one  would  think 
it  should  have  struck  the  observers  greatly,  and  yet  it 
scarcely  did  so.  For  me,  I  was  no  Highlander  myself, 
and  the  Highland  chiefs  of  old,  of  whom  I  certainly  knew 
several,  had  little  in  their  manners  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  Lowland  gentry,  when  they  mixed  in  society  in 
Edinburgh,  and  assumed  the  Lowland  dress.  Their  pe- 
culiar character  was  for  the  clansmen  at  home  ;  and  you 


B8  CHRONICLES    OF 

must  not  imagine  that  they  swaggered  about  in  plaids  ar.d 
broadswords  at  the  Cross,  or  came  to  the  Assembly- 
Roorns  in  bonnets  and  kilts." 

"  I  remember,"  said  I,  "  that  Swift,  in  his  Journal, 
tells  Stella  he  had  dined  in  the  house  of  a  Scots  noble- 
man, with  two  Highland  chiefs,  whom  he  had  found  as 
well-bred  men  as  he  had  ever  met  with."21 

"  Very  likely,"  said  my  friend.  "  The  extremes  of 
society  approach  much  more  closely  to  each  other  than 
perhaps  the  Dean  of  Saint  Patrick's  expected.  The  sav- 
age is  always  to  a  certain  degree  polite.  Besides,  going 
always  armed,  and  having  a  very  punctilious  idea  of  their 
own  gentility  and  consequence,  they  usually  behaved  to 
each  other  and  to  the  Lowlanders,  with  a  good  deal  of 
formal  politeness,  which  sometimes  even  procured  them 
the  character  of  insincerity." 

"  Falsehood  belongs  to  an  early  period  of  society,  as 
we.,  as  the  deferential  forms  which  we  style  politeness,"  I 
replied.  "  A  child  does  not  see  the  least  moral  beauty 
in  truth,  until  he  has  been  flogged  half-a-dozen  times. 
It  is  so  easy,  and  apparently  so  natural,  to  deny  what  you 
cannot  be  easily  convicted  of,  that  a  savage  as  well  as  a 
child  lies  to  excuse  himself,  almost  as  instinctively  as  he 
raises  his  hand  to  protect  his  head.  The  old  saying, 
'  confess  and  be  hanged,'  carries  much  argument  in  it.  1 
observed  a  remark  the  other  day  in  old  Birrel.  He  men- 
tions that  M'Gregor  of  Glenstrae  and  some  of  his  people 
had  surrendered  themselves  to  one  of  the  Earls  of  Argyle, 
upon  the  express  condition  that  they  should  be  conveyed 
safe  into  England.  The  Maccallan  Mhorof  the  day  kept 
the  word  of  promise,  but  it  was  only  lo  the  ear.  He  in- 
deed sent  his  captives  to  Berwick,  where  they  had  an 
airing;  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tweed,  but  it  was  under 

O  ' 

the  custody  of  a  strong  guard,  by  whom  they  were  brought 
back  to  Edinburgh,  and  delivered  to  the  executioner. 
This,  Birrel  calls  keeping  a  Highlandrnan'b  promise."22 

"  Well,"  replied  Mrs.  Baliol,  "  1  might  add,  that  many 
of  the  Highland  chiefs  whom  1  knew  in  former  days  had 
been  brought  up  in  Francej  which  might  improve  their 


THE    CANONGATE.  89 

politeness,  though  perhaps  it  did  not  amend  their  sincer- 
ity. But  considering,  that,  belonging  to  the  depressed 
and  defeated  faction  in  the  state,  they  were  compelled 
sometimes  to  use  dissimulation,  you  must  set  their  uniform 
fidelity  to  their  friends  against,  their  occasional  falsehood 
lo  their  enemies,  and  then  you  will  not  judge  poor  John 
Highlandman  too  severely.  They  were  in  a  state  of  so- 
ciety where  bright  lights  are  strongly  contrasted  with  deep 
shadows." 

"  It  is  to  that  point  I  would  bring  you,  mn  belle  cousine, 
— and  therefore  they  are  most  proper  subjects  for  com- 
position." 

"  And  you  want  to  turn  composer,  my  good  friend, 
and  set  my  old  tales  to  some  popular  tune  *?  But  there 
have  been  too  many  composers,  if  that  be  the  word,  in 
the  field  before.  The  Highlands  were  indeed  a  rich  mine  ; 
but  they  have,  T  think,  been  fairly  wrought  out,  as  a  good 
tune  is  grinded  into  vulgarity  when  it  descends  to  the 
hurdy-gurdy  and  the  barrel-organ." 

"  If  it  be  really  tune,"  I  replied,  "  it  will  recover 
its  better  qualities  when  it  gets  into  the  hands  of  better 
artists." 

"  Umph  !"  said  Mrs.  Baliol,  tapping  her  box,  "  we 
are  happy  in  our  own  good  opinion  this  evening,  Mr. 
Croftangry.  And  so  you  think  you  can  restore  the  gloss 
to  the  tartan,  which  it  has  lost  by  being  dragged  through 
so  many  fingers  9 

"  With  your  assistance  to  procure  materials,  my  dear 
lady,  much,  I  think,  may  be  done." 

"  Well — I  must  do  my  best,  I  suppose  ;  though  all  1 
know  about  the  Gael  is  but  of  little  consequence — In- 
deed, I  gathered  it  chiefly  from  Donald  MacLeish." 

"  And  who  might  Donald  MacLeish  be  9" 

"  Neither  bard  nor  seannachie,  I  assure  you,  nor  monk 
nor  hermit,  the  approved  authorities  for  old  traditions. 
Donald  was  as  good  a  postilion  as  ever  drove  a  chaise  and 
pair  between  Glencroe  and  Inverary.  I  assure  you,  when 
1  eive  you  my  Highland  anecdotes,  you  will  hear  much  ol 
6  VOL.  i. 


90  CHRONICLES    OP 

Donald  MacLeish.     He  was  Alice  Lambskin's  beau  and 
mine  through  a  long  Highland  tour." 

"  But  when  am  I  to  possess  these  anecdotes  9 — you 
answer  me  as  Harley  did  poor  Prior — 

Let  that  be  done  which  Mat  doth  say. 

'  Yea/  quoth  the  Earl,  '  but  not  to-day.'  " 

"  Well,  mon  beau  cousin,  if  you  begin  to  remind  me  ot 
my  cruelty,  I  must  remind  you  it  has  struck  nine  on  the 
Abbey  clock,  and  it  is  time  you  were  going  home  to 
Little  Croftangry.  For  my  promise  to  assist  your  anti- 
quarian researches,  be  assured,  I  will  one  day  keep  it 
to  the  utmost  extent.  It  shall  not  be  a  Highlandman's 
promise,  as  your  old  citizen  calls  it." 

I  by  this  time  suspected  the  purpose  of  my  friend's 
procrastination  ;  and  it  saddened  my  heart  to  reflect  that 
1  was  not  to  get  the  information  which  I  desired,  except- 
ing in  the  shape  of  a  legacy.  I  found  accordingly,  in  the 
packet  transmitted  to  me  after  the  excellent  lady's  death, 
several  anecdotes  respecting  the  Highlands,  from  which  I 
have  selected  that  which  follows,  chiefly  on  account  of  its 
possessing  great  power  over  the  feelings  of  my  critical 
housekeeper,  Janet  M'Evoy,  who  wept  most  bitterly  when 
I  read  it  to  her. 

It  is,  however,  but  a  very  simple  tale,  and  may  have  no 
interest  for  persons  beyond  Janet's  rank  of  life  or  under- 
standing. 


THE    CANONGAFR 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


It  wound  as  near  as  near  could  be, 

But  what  it  is  she  cannot  tell  ; 

On  the  other  side  it  seemed  to  he, 

Of  the  huge  broad-breasted  old  oak-tree. 

Colerid^ 

MRS.BETHUNE  BALIOL'S  memorandum  begir.  s  thus:— 
It  is  five-and-thirty,  or  perhaps  nearer  forty  y  2ars  ago, 
since,  to  relieve  the  dejection  of  spirits  occasioied  by  a 
great  family  loss  sustained  two  or  three  months  before,  I 
undertook  what  was  called  the  short  Highland  tour.  This 
had  become  in  some  degree  fashionable  ;  but  though  the 
military  roads  were  excellent,  yet  the  accommodation  was 
so  indifferent  that  it  was  reckoned  a  little  adventure  to 
accomplish  it.  Besides,  the  Highlands,  though  now  as 
peaceable  as  any  part  of  King  George's  dominions,  was  a 
sound  which  still  carried  terror,  while  so  many  survived 
who  had  witnessed  the  insurrection  of  1745  ;  and  a 
vague  idea  of  fear  was  impressed  on  many,  as  they  look- 
ed from  the  towers  of  Stirling  northward  to  the  huge 
chain  of  mountains,  which  rises  like  a  dusky  rampart  to 
conceal  in  its  recesses  a  people,  whose  dress,  manners, 
and  language,  differed  still  very  much  from  those  of  their 
Lowland  countrymen.  For  rny  part,  I  come  of  a  race 
not  greatly  subject  to  apprehensions  arising  from  imagina- 
tion only.  I  had  some  Highland  relatives,  knew  several 
of  their  families  of  distinction  ;  and,  though  only  having 
the  company  of  my  bower-maiden  Mrs.  Alice  Lambskin, 
1  went  on  my  journey  fearless. 

But  then  I  had  a  guide  and  cicerone,  almost  equal  to 
Greatheart  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  in  no  less  a  person 
than  Donald  MacLeish,  the  postilion  whom  I  hired  al 


92  CHRONICLES    OF 

Stirling,  with  a  pair  of  able-bodied  horses,  as  stead/  as 
Donald  himself,  to  drag  my  carriage,  my  duenna,  and 
myself,  wheresoever  it  was  my  pleasure  to  go. 

Donald  MacLeish  was  one  of  a  race  of  post-boys, 
whom,  I  suppose,  mail-coaches  and  steam-boats  have  put 
out  of  fashion.  They  were  to  be  found  chiefly  at  Perth, 
Stirling,  or  Glasgow,  where  they  and  their  horses  were 
usually  hired  by  travellers,  or  tourists,  to  accomplish 
such  journeys  of  business  or  pleasure  as  they  might 
have  to  perform  in  the  land  of  the  Gael.  This  class  of 
persons  approached  to  the  character  of  what  is  called 
abroad  a  conducteur  ;  or  might  be  compared  to  the  sail- 
ing-master on  board  a  British  ship  of  war,  who  follows  out 
after  his  own  manner  the  course  which  the  captain  com- 
mands him  to  observe.  You  explained  to  your  postilioi 
the  length  of  your  tour,  and  the  objects  you  were  desirous 
it  should  embrace  ;  and  you  found  him  perfectly  compe- 
tent to  fix  the  places  of  rest  or  refreshment,  with  due  at- 
tention that  those  should  be  chosen  with  reference  to  your 
convenience,  and  to  any  points  of  interest  which  you 
might  desire  to  visit. 

The  qualifications  of  such  a  person  were  necessarily 
much  superior  to  those  of  the  "  first  ready,"  who  gallops 
thrice-a-day  over  the  same  ten  miles.  Donald  MacLeish, 
besides  being  quite  alert  at  repairing  all  ordinary  acci- 
dents to  his  horses  and  carriage,  and  in  making  shift  to 
support  them,  where  forage  was  scarce,  with  such  substi- 
tutes as  bannocks  and  cakes,  was  likewise  a  man  of  in- 
tellectual resources.  He  had  acquired  a  general  know- 
ledge of  the  traditional  stories  of  the  country  which  he 
had  traversed  so  often  ;  and,  if  encouraged,  (for  Donald 
was  a  man  of  the  most  decorous  reserve,)  he  would  wil- 
lingly point  out  to  you  the  site  of  the  principal  clan-bat- 
tles, and  recount  the  most  remarkable  legends  by  which 
the  road,  and  the  objects  which  occurred  in  travelling  it, 
had  been  distinguished.  There  was  some  originality  in 
the  man's  habits  of  thinking  and  expressing  himself,  his 
turn  for  legendary  lore  strangely  contrasting  with  a  por- 
tion of  the  knowing  shrewdness  belonging  to  his  actual 


T11K    CAAONGATE.  93 

occupation,  which  made  his  conversation  amuse  t  e  way 
well  enough. 

Add  to  this,  Donald  knew  all  his  peculiar  duties  in  the 
country  which  he  traversed  so  frequently.  He  could 
tell,  to  a  day,  when  they  would  "  he  killing"  lamb  at 
Tyndrum  or  Glenuilt  ;  so  thai  the  stranger  would  have 
some  chance  of  being  fed  like  a  Christian  ;  and  knew  to 
a  mile  the  last  village  where  it  was  possible  to  procure  a 
wheaicn  loaf,  for  the  guidance  of  those  who  were  little 
familiar  with  the  Land  of  Cakes.  He  was  acquainted 
with  the  road  every  mile,  and  could  tell  to  an  inch  which 
side  of  a  Highland  bridge  was  passable,  which  decidedly 
dangerous.*  In  short,  Donald  IMacLeish  was  not  only 
our  faithful  attendant  and  steady  servant,  but  our  humble 
and  obliging  friend  ;  and  though  J  have  known  the  half- 
classical  cicerone  of  Italy,  the  talkative  French  valet-de- 
place,  and  even  the  muleteer  of  Spain,  who  piques  himsell 
on  being  a  maize-eater,  and  whose  honour  is  not  to  be 
questioned  without  danger,  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  had 
so  sensible  and  intelligent  a  guide. 

Our  motions  were  of  course  under  Donald's  direction  ; 
and  it  frequently  happened,  when  the  weather  was  serene, 
that  we  preferred  halting  to  rest  his  horses  even  where 
there  was  no  established  stage,  and  taking  our  refresh- 
ment under  a  crag,  from  which  leaped  a  waterfall,  or  be- 
side the  verge  of  a  fountain,  enamelled  with  verdant  turf 
and  wild-flowers.  Donald  had  an  eye  for  such  spots,  and 
though  he  had,  I  dare  say,  never  read  Gil  Bias  or  Don 
Quixote,  yet  he  chose  such  halting-places  as  Le  Sage  or 
Cervantes  would  have  described.  Very  often,  as  ne 
observed  the  pleasure  I  took  in  conversing  with  the  conn- 
try  people,  he  would  manage  to  6x  our  place  of  rest  near 
a  cottage  where  there  was  some  old  Gael,  whose  broad- 
sword had  blazed  at  Falkirk  or  Preston,  and  who  seemed 
ihe  frail  yet  faithful  record  of  times  which  had  passed 

*  This  is,  or  was  at  least,  a  necessary  accomplishment.  In  one  of  the  mos- 
/teaiitifu!  districts  of  the  Highlands  was, not  many  years  since, abridge  bearing 
this  Sartling  caution,  "  Keep  to  the  rigl*  side,  the  left  being  dangerous." 


yi  CHltO^ICLES    OF 

away.  Or  he  would  contrive  (o  quarter  us,  as  far  as  a 
cup  of  tea  went,  upon  the  hospitality  of  some  parish  min 
ister  of  worth  and  intelligence,  or  some  country  family  ol 
the  better  class,  who  mingled  with  the  wild  simplicity  01 
their  original  manners,  and  their  ready  and  hospitable 
welcome,  a  sort  of  courtesy  belonging  to  a  people,  the 
lowest  of  whom  are  accustomed  to  consider  themselves 
as  being,  according  to  the  Spanish  phrase,  "  as  good  gen- 
tlemen as  the  king,  only  not  quite  so  rich." 

To  all  such  persons  Donald  MacLeish  was  well  known, 
and  his  introduction  passed  as  current  as  if  we  had  brought 
letters  from  some  high  chief  of  the  country. 

Sometimes  it  Happened  that  the  Highland  hospitality, 
which  welcomed  us  with  all  the  variety  of  mountain  fare, 
preparations  of  milk  and  eggs,  and  girdle-cakes  of  various 
kinds,  as  well  as  more  substantial  dainties,  according  to 
the  inhabitant's  means  of  regaling  the  passenger,  de- 
scended rather  too  exuberantly  on  Donald  MacLeish  in 
the  shape  of  mountain  dew.  Poor  Donald  !  he  was  on 
such  occasions  like  Gideon's  fleece,  moist  with  the  noble 
element,  which,  of  course,  fell  not  on  us.  Bui  it  was  his 
only  fault,  and  when  pressed  to  drink  doch-an-dorroch 
'o  my  ladyship's  good  health,  it  would  have  been  ill  taken 
to  have  refused  the  pledge,  nor  was  he  willing  to  do  such 
discourtesy.  It  was,  I  repeat,  his  only  fault,  nor  had  w 
any  great  right  to  complain  ;  for  if  it  rendered  him  a  little 
more  talkative,  it  augmented  his  ordinary  share  of  punc 
tilions  civility,  and  he  only  drove  slower,  and  talked  long- 
er and  more  pompously  than  when  he  had  not  corne  by 
a  drop  of  usquebaugh.  It  was,  we,  remarked,  only  or 
such  occasions  that  Donald  talked  with  an  air  of  import 
ance  of  the  family  of  MacLeish  ;  and  we  had  no  title  tj 
be  scrupulous  in  censuring  a  foible,  the  consequences  ol 
which  were  confined  within  such  innocent  limits. 

We  became  so  much  accustomed  to  Donald's  mode  01 
managing  us,  that  we  observed  with  some  interest  the  art 
which  he  used  to  produce  a  little  agreeable  surprise,  by 
Doucealing  from  us  the  spot  where  he  proposed  our  halt 
to  be  made,  when  it  was  of  an  unusual  and  interesting 


THE    CANONGATK.  95 

character.  This  was  so  much  his  wont,  that  when  tie 
made  apologies  at  setting  off,  for  being  obliged  to  stop  in 
some  strange  solitary  place,  till  the  horses  should  eat  the 
corn  which  he  brought  on  with  them  for  that  purpose, 
our  imagination  used  to  be  on  the  stretch  to  guess  what 
romantic  retreat  he  had  se  relly  fixed  upon  for  our  noon- 
tide baiting-place. 

We  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  morning  at  the 
delightful  village  of  Dalmally,  and  had  gone  upon  the 
lake  under  the  guidance  of  the  excellent  clergyman 
who  was  then  incumbent  at  Glenorquhy^and  had  heard 
an  hundred  legends  of  the  stern  chiefsof  Loch  Awe,  Dun- 
can with  the  thrum  bonnet,  and  the  other  lords  of  the  now 
mouldering  towers  of  Kilchurn.24  Thus  it  was  later  than 
usual  when  we  set  out  on  our  journey,  after  a  hint  or  two 
from  Donald  concerning  the  length  of  the  way  to  the 
next  stage,  as  there  was  no  good  halting-place  between 
Dalmally  and  Oban. 

Having  bid  adieu  to  our  venerable  and  kind  cicerone, 
we  proceeded  on  our  tour,  winding  round  the  tremen- 
dous mountain  called  Cruachan  Ben,  which  rushes  down  in 
all  its  majesty  of  rocks  and  wilderness  on  the  lake,  leaving 
only  a  pass,  in  which,  notwithstanding  its  extreme  strength, 
the  warlike  clan  of  MacDougal  of  Lorn  were  almost  de- 
stroyed by  the  sagacious  Robert  Bruce.  That  King,  the 
Wellington  of  his  day,  had  accomplished,  by  a  forced 
march,  the  unexpected  manoeuvre  of  forcing  a  body  of 
troops  round  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  and  thus 
placed  them  in  the  flank  and  in  the  rear  of  the  men  oi 
Lorn,  whom  at  lhe,same  time  he  attacked  in  front.  The 
great  number  of  cairns  yet  visible,  as  you  descend  the 
pass  on  the  westward  side,  shows  the  extent  of  the  ven- 
geance which  Bruce  exhausted  on  his  inveterate  and  per- 
sonal enemies.  I  am,  you  know,  the  sister  of  soldiers, 
and  it  has  since  struck  me  forcibly  that  the  mano?uvr> 
which  Donald  described,  resembled  those  of  Wellington 
or  of  Bonaparte.  He  was  a  great  man  Robert  Bruce, 
sven  a  Baliol  must  admit  t  lat ;  although  it  begins  now  to 
be  alii  wed  that  his  title  to  the  crown  was  scarce  so  good 


CH110A1CLKS    OF 

as  that  of  the  unfortunate  family  with  whom  he  contend 
ed — But  let  that  pass. — The  slaughter  had  been  the 
greater,  as  the  deep  and  rapid  river  Awe  is  disgorged 
from  the  lake,  just  in  the  rear  of  the  fugitives,  and  encir- 
cles the  base  of  the  tremendous  mountain  ;  so  that  the 
retreat  of  the  unfortunate  fliers  was  intercepted  on  all 
sides  by  the  inaccessible  character  of  the  country,  which 
had  seemed  to  promise  them  defence  and  protection.25 

Musing,  like  the  Irish  lady  in  the  song,  "  upon  things 
which  are  long  enough  a-gone,"26we  felt  no  impatience  at 
the  slow,  and  almost  creeping  pace,  with  which  our  con- 
ductor proceeded  along  General  Wade's  military  road, 
which  never  or  rarely  condescends  to  turn  aside  from  the 
steepest  ascent,  but  proceeds  right  up  and  down  hill,  with 
the  indifference  to  height  and  hollow,  steep  or  level,  indi- 
cated by  the  old  Roman  engineers.  Still,  however,  the 
substantial  excellence  of  these  great  works — for  such  are 
the  military  highways  in  the  Highlands — deserved  the 
compliment  of  the  poet,  who,  whether  he  came  from  our 
sister  kingdom,  and  spoke  in  his  own  dialect,  or  whether 
he  supposed  those  whom  he  addressed  might  have  some 
national  pretension  to  the  second  sight,  produced  the  eel 
ebrated  couplet — 

Had  you  but  seen  these  roads  before  they  were  made, 
You  would  hold  up  your  hands,  and  bless  General  Wade. 

Nothing  indeed  can  be  more  wonderful  than  to  see  these 
wildernesses  penetrated  and  pervious  in  every  quarter  by 
broad  accesses  of  the  best  possible  construction,  and  so 
superior  to  what  the  country  could  have  demanded  for 
many  centuries  for  any  pacific  purpose  of  commercia 
intercourse.  Thus  the  traces  of  war  are  sometimes  hap- 
pily accommodated  to  the  purposes  of  peace.  The  vic- 
tories of  Bonaparte  have  been  without  results ;  but  his 
road  over  the  Sirnplon  will  long  be  the-communication 
betwixt  peaceful  countries,  who  will  apply  to  the  ends  ot 
commerce  and  friendly  intercourse  that  gigantic  work, 
which  was  formed  for  the  ambitious  purpose  of  warhke 
invasion 


THE    CANONGATE.  97 

we  were  thus  stealing  along,  we  gradua..y  turn* 
ed  round  the  shoulder  of  Ben  Cruachan,  and  descending 
the  course  of  the  foaming  and  rapid  Awe,  left  behind  us 
the  expanse  of  the  majestic  lake  which  gives  hirth  to  that 
impetuous  river.  The  rocks  and  precipices  which  stoop- 
ed down  perpendicularly  on  our  path  on  the  right  hand, 
exhibited  a  few  remains  of  the  wood  which  once  clothed 
them,  but  which  had,  in  latter  times,  been  felled  to  sup- 
ply, Donald  MacLeish  informed  us,  the  iron-founderies  at 
the  Bunawe.  This  made  us  fix  our  eyes  with  interest  on 
one  large  oak,  which  grew  on  the  left  hand  towards  the 
river.  It  seemed  a  tree  of  extraordinary  magnitude  and  pic- 
turesque beauty,  and  stood  just  where  there  appeared  to  be 
a  few  roods  of  open  ground  lying  among  huge  stones, 
which  had  rolled  down  from  the  mountain.  To  add  to 
the  romance  of  the  situation,  the  spot  of  clear  ground 
extended  round  the  foot  of  a  proud-browed  rock,  from 
the  summit  of  which  leaped  a  mountain  stream  in  a  fall 
of  sixty  feet,  in  which  it  was  dissolved  into  foam  and  dew. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  fall  the  rivulet  with  difficulty  col- 
lected, like  a  routed  general,  its  dispersed  forces,  and,  as 
if  tamed  by  its  descent,  found  a  noiseless  passage  through 
the  heath  to  join  the  Awe. 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  tree  and  waterfall,  and 
wished  myself  nearer  them  ;  not  that  I  thought  of  sketch- 
book or  portfolio, — for,  in  my  younger  days,  Misses  were 
not  accustomed  to  black-lead  pencils,  unless  they  could 
use  them  to  some  good  purpose, — but  merely  to  indulge 
myself  with  a  closer  view.  Donald  immediately  opened 
the  chaise  door,  but  observed  it  was  rough  walking  down 
the  brae,  and  that  I  would  see  the  tree  better  by  keeping 
the  road  for  a  hundred  yards  farther,  when  it  passed  closer 
to  the  spot,  for  which  he  seemed,  however,  to  have  no 
predilection.  "  He  knew,"  he  said,  "  a  far  bigger  tree 
than  that  nearer  Bunawe,  and  it  was  a  place  where  there 
was  flat  ground  for  the  carriage  to  stand,  which  it  could 
jimply  do  on  these  braes  ; — bu»  just  as  my  leddyship 
liked." 

531} 


98  CHRONICLES    OF 

My  ladyship  did  choose  rather  to  look  at  the  fine  tree 
oefore  me,  than  to  pass  it  by  in  hopes  of  a  finer  ;  so  we 
walked  beside  the  carriage  till  we  should  come  to  a  point, 
from  which,  Donald  assured  us,  we  might,  .vithout  scram- 
bling, go  as  near  the  tree  as  we  chose,  "  though  he  wadna 
advise  us  to  go  nearer  than  the  high-road." 

There  was  something  grave  and  mysterious  in  Donald's 
sun-browned  countenance  when  he  gave  us  this  intima- 
tion, and  his  manner  was  so  different  from  his  usual 
frankness,  that  my  female  curiosity  was  set  in  motion. 
We  walked  on  the  whilst,  and  1  found  the  tree,  of  which 
we  had  now  lost  sight  by  the  intervention  of  some  rising 
ground,  was  really  more  distant  than  I  had  at  first  suppos- 
ed. "I  could  have  sworn  now,"  said  1  to  my  cicerone, 
"  that  yon  tree  and  waterfall  was  the  very  place  where 
you  intended  to  make  a  stop  to-day." 

"  The  Lord  forbid  !"  said  Donald,  hastily. 

"  And  for  what,  Donald  *?  why  should  you  be  willing 
to  pass  so  pleasant  a  spot  9" 

"  It's  ower  near  Dalmally,  my  leddy,  to  coin  the  beasts 
— it  would  bring  their  dinner  ower  near  their  breakfast, 
poor  things  : — an',  besides,  the  place  is  not  canny." 

"  Oh  !  then  the  mystery  is  out.  There  is  a  bogle  or 
&  brownie,  a  witch  or  a  gyre-carlin,  a  bodach  or  a  fairy, 
in  the  case  ?" 

•*  The  ne'er  a  bit,  my  leddy — ye  are  clean  aft'  the 
road,  as  I  may  say.  But  if  your  leddyship  will  just  hae 
patience,  and  wait  till  we  are  by  the  place  and  out  of  the 
glen,  I'll  tell  ye  all  about  it.  There  is  no  much  luck  in 
speaking  of  such  things  in  the  place  they  chanced  in." 

I  was  obliged  to  suspend  my  curiosity,  observing,  that 
if  I  persisted  in  twisting  the  discourse  one  way  wl.ile 
Donald  was  twining  it  another,  I  should  make  his  objec- 
tion, like  a  hempen  cord,  just  so  much  the  toughrr.  At 
length  the  promised  turn  of  the  road  brought  us  within 
filly  paces  of  the  tree  which  I  desired  to  admire,  and  I 
now  saw.  to  my  surprise,  that  there  was  a  human  habita  • 
tion  among  the  cliffs  which  surrounded  it.  It  was  a  hit 
of  the  least  dimensions  and  most  miserable  description, 


THE    GANG'S  GATE.  S9 

that  I  ever  saw  even  in  the  Highlands.  The  walls  o  sod, 
or  divot,  as  the  Scotch  call  it,  were  not  four  feet  high — 
the  roof  was  of  turf,  repaired  with  reeds  and  sedges — 
the  chimney,  was  composed  of  clay,  bound  round  by  straw 
ropes — and  the  whole  walls,  roof  and  chimney,  were  alike 
covered  with  the  vegetation  of  house-leek,  rye-grass,  and 
rnoss,  common  to  decayed  cottages  lorrned  of  such  mate- 
rials. There  was  not  the  slightest  vestige  of  a  kale-yard, 
the  usual  accompaniment  of  the  very  worst  huts;  and  of 
living  things  we  saw  nothing,  save  a  kid  which  was  brows- 
ing on  the  roof  of  the  hut,  and  a  goat,  its  mother,  at  some 
distance,  feeding  betwixt  the  oak  and  the  river  Awe. 

"  What  man,"  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  "  can  have 
committed  sin  deep  enough  to  deserve  such  a  miserable 
dwelling  !" 

"  Sin  enough,"  said  Donald  MacLeish,  with  a  half- 
suppressed  groan  ;  "  and  God  he  knoweth,  misery  enough 
too  ; — and  it  is  no  man's  dwelling  neither,  but  a  wo- 
man's." 

"  A  woman's  !"  I  repeated,  "  and  in  so  lonely  a  place 
— What  sort  of  a  woman  can  she  be  9" 

"  Corne  this  way,  my  leddy,  and  you  may  judge  that 
for  yourself,"  said  Donald.  And  by  advancing  a  few 
steps,  and  making  a  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  we  gained  a 
sight  of  the  side  <.f  the  great  broad-breasted  oak,  in  the 
direction  opposed  to  that  in  which  we  had  hitherto  seen  it. 

"  If  she  keeps  her  old  wont,  she  will  be  there  at  this 
hour  of  the  day,"  said  Donald  ;  but  immediately  became 
silent,  and  pointed  with  his  finger,  as  one  afraid  of  being 
overheard.  I  looked,  and  beheld,  not  without  some 
sense  of  awe,  a  female  form  seated  by  the  stem  of  the 
oak,  with  her  head  drooping,  her  hands  clasped,  and  a 
dark-coloured  mantle  drawn  over  her  head,  exactly  as 
Judah  is  represented  in  the  Syrian  medals  as  seated 
Jnder  her  palm-tree.  I  was  infected  with  the  fear  ana 
reverence  which  my  guide  seemed  to  entertain  towards 
ihis  solitary  being,  nor  did  I  think  of  advancing  towards 
her  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  until  I  had  cast  an  inquiring 


100  CHRONICLES    OF 

ook  on  Donald  ;  to  which  he  replied  in  a  ha  f  whisper— 
'  She  has  been  a  fearfu'  bad  woman,  my  leddy." 

"  Mad  woman,  said  you,"  replied  I,  hearing  him  im- 
perfectly ;  "  then  she  is  perhaps  dangerous  9" 

"  No — she  is  not  mad,"  replied  Donald  ;  "  for  then 
it  may  be  she  would  be  happier  than  she  is  ;  though  when 
she  thinks  on  what  she  has  done,  and  caused  to  be  done, 
rather  than  yield  up  a  hair-breadth  of  her  ain  wicked 
will,  it  is  not  likely  she  can  be  very  well  settled.  But 
she  neither  is  mad  nor  mischievous  ;  and  yet,  my  leddy, 
1  think  you  had  best  not  go  nearer  to  her."  And  then, 
in  a  few  hurried  words,  he  made  me  acquainted  with  the 
story  which  I  am  now  to  tell  more  in  de>  jii.  I  heard  the 
narrative  with  a  mixture  of  horror  and  sympathy,  which 
at  once  impelled  me  to  approach  the  sufferer,  and  speak 
to  her  the  words  of  comfort,  or  rather  of  pity,  and  at  the 
same  time  made  me  afraid  to  do  so. 

This  indeed  was  the  feeling  with  which  she  was  regard- 
ed by  the  Highlanders  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  looked 
upon  Elspat  MacTavish,  or  the  Woman  of  the  Tree,  as 
they  called  her,  as  the  Greeks  considered  those  who  were 
pursued  by  the  Furies,  and  endured  the  mental  torment 
consequent  on  great  criminal  actions.  They  regarded 
such  unhappy  beings  as  Orestes  and  CEdipus,  as  being 
less  the  voluntary  perpetrators  of  their  crimes,  than  as  the 
passive  instruments  by  which  the  terrible  decrees  of  Des- 
tiny had  been  accomplished  ;  and  the  fear  with  which 
they  beheld  them  was  not  unmingled  with  veneration. 

1  also  learned  farther  from  Donald  MacLeish,  that  there 
was  some  apprehension  of  ill  luck  attending  those  who  had 
the  boldness  to  approach  too  near,  or  disturb  the  awful 
solitude  of  a  being  so  unutterably  miserable  ;  that  it  was 
supposed  that  whosoever  approached  her  must  experience 
in  some  respect  the  contagion  of  her  wretchedness. 

It  was  therefore  with  some  reluctance  that  Donald 
saw  me  prepare  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of  the  sufferer, 
and  that  he  himself  followed  to  assist  me  in  the  descent 
uown  a  very  rough  path.  I  believe  his  regard  for  me 
conquered  some  ominous  feelings  in  his  own  breast,  which 


TUE    CANONGATE.  101 

connected  his  duty  on  this  occasion  with  the  presaging 
fear  of  lame  horses,  lost  linch-pins,  overturns,  and  other 
perilous  chances  of  the  postilion's  life. 

I  arn  not  sure  if  my  own  courage  would  have  carried 
rne  so  close  to  Elspat,  had  he  not  followed.  There  was 
in  her  countenance  the  stern  abstraction  of  hopeless  and 
overpowering  sorrow,  mixed  with  the  contending  feelings 
of  rsrnorse,  and  of  the  pride  which  struggled  to  conceal 
h.  She  guessed,  perhaps,  that  it  was  curiosity,  arising 
out  of  her  uncommon  story,  which  induced  me  to  intrude 
on  her  solitude — and  she  could  not  be  pleased  that  a  fate 
like  hers  had  been  the  theme  of  a  traveller's  amusement. 
Yet  the  look  with  which  she  regarded  me  was  one  of 
scorn  instead  of  embarrassment.  The  opinion  of  the 
world  and  all  its  children  could  not  add  or  take  an  iota 
from  her  load  of  misery ;  and,  save  from  the  half  smile 
that  seemed  to  intimate  the  contempt  of  a  being  wrapt 
by  the  very  intensity  of  her  affliction  above  the  sphere 
of  ordinary  humanities,  she  seemed  as  indifferent  to 
my  gaze,  as  if  she  had  been  a  dead  corpse  or  a  marble 
statue. 

Elspat  was  above  the  middle  stature;  her  hair,  now 
grizzled,  was  still  profuse  ;  and  it  had  been  of  the  most 
decided  black.  So  were  her  eyes,  in  which,  contradict- 
ing the  stern  and  rigid  features  of  her  countenance,  there 
shone  the  wild  and  troubled  light  that  indicates  an  unset- 
tled mind.  Her  hair  was  wrapt  round  a  silver  bodkin 
with  some  attention  to  neatness,  and  her  dark  mantle  was 
disposed  around  her  with  a  degree  of  taste,  though  the 
materials  were  of  the  most  ordinary  sort. 

After  gazing  on  this  victim  of  guilt  and  calamity  till 
I  was  ashamed  to  remain  silent,  though  uncertain  how  I 
ought  to  address  her,  I  began  to  express  my  surprise  at 
her  choosing  such  a  desert  and  deplorable  dwelling. 
She  cut  short  these  expressions  of  sympathy,  by  answer- 
ing in  a  stern  voice,  without  the  least  change  of  counte- 
nance or  posture — "  Daughter  of  the  stranger,  he  has 
lold  you  my  story."  I  was  silenced  at  once,  and  frit 

VOL.    I. 


102  CHRONICLES    OF 

how  little  all  earthly  accommodation  must  seem  to  the 
mind  which  had  such  subjects  as  hers  for  rumination. 
Without  again  attempting  to  open  the  conversation,  I  took 
a  piece  of  gold  from  my  purse,  (for  Donald  had  intimated 
she  lived  on  alms,)  expecting  she  would  at  least  stretch 
her  hand  to  receive  it.  But  she  neither  accepted  nor  re- 
jected the  gift — she  did  not  even  seem  to  notice  it,  though 
twenty  times  as  valuable,  probably,  as  was  usually  offer- 
ed. I  was  obliged  to  place  it  on  her  knee,  saying  invol- 
untarily, as  1  did  so,  "  May  God  pardon  you,  and  relieve 
you  !"  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  which  she  cast  up  to 
Heaven,  nor  the  tone  in  which  she  exclaimed,  in  the  very 
words  of  my  old  friend,  John  Home — 

"  My  beautiful — my  brave !" 

It  was  the  language  of  nature,  and  arose  from  the  heart 
of  the  deprived  mother,  as  it  did  from  that  gifted  imagin- 
ative poet,  while  furnishing  with  appropriate  expressions 
the  ideal  grief  of  Lady  Randolph. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

O,  I'm  come  lo  the  Low  Country, 

Och,  och,  ohonochie, 
Without  a  penny  in  my  pouch 

To  buy  a  meal  for  me. 
I  was  the  proudest  of  my  clan, 

Long,  long1  may  1  repine; 
And  Donald  xvasthe  bravest  man, 

And  Donald  he  was  mine. 

Old  Song. 

EL.SPAT  had  enjoyed  happy  days,  though  her  age  had 
sunk  into  hopeless  and  inconsolable  sorrow  and  distress. 
She  was  once  the  beautiful  and  happy  wife  of  Hamish 
MacTavish,  for  whom  his  strength  and  feats  of  prowess 
bad  gained  the  title  of  MacTavish  Mhor.  His  lifo 


THE    CANONGATE.  103 

was  turbulent  and  dangerous,  his  habits  being  of  the  old 
Highland  stamp,  which  esteemed  it  shame  to  want  any- 
thing that  could  be  had  for  the  taking.  Those  in  the 
Lowland  line  who  lay  near  him,  and  desired  to  enjoy 
their  lives  and  property  in  quiet,  were  contented  to  pay 
him  a  small  composition,  in  name  of  protection-money, 
and  comforted  themselves  with  the  old  proverb,  that  it 
was  better  to  "  fleech  the  deil  than  fight  him."  Others, 
who  accounted  such  composition  dishonourable,  were  of- 
ten surprised  by  MacTavish  Mhor,  and  his  associates 
and  followers,  who  usually  inflicted  an  adequate  penalty, 
either  in  person  or  property,  or  both.  The  creagh  is 
yet  remembered,  in  which  he  swept  one  hundred  and  fifty 
cows  from  Monteith  in  one  drove  ;  and  how  he  placed 
the  laird  of  Ballybught  naked  in  a  slough,  for  having 
threatened  to  send  for  a  party  of  the  Highland  Watch 
lo  protect  his  property. 

Whatever  were  occasionally  the  triumphs  of  this  daring 
cateran,  they  were  often  exchanged  for  reverses  ;  and  his 
narrow  escapes,  rapid  flights,  and  ingenious  stratagems 
with  which  he  extricated  himself  from  imminent  danger, 
were  no  less  remembered  and  admired  than  the  exploits 
in  which  he  had  been  successful.  In  weal  or  wo,  through 
every  species  of  fatigue,  difficulty,  and  danger,  Elspat 
was  his  faithful  companion.  She  enjoyed  with  him  the 
fits  of  occasional  prosperity  ;  and  when  adversity  pressed 
them  hard,  her  strength  of  mind,  readiness  of  wit,  and 
courageous  endurance  of  danger  and  toil,  were  said  often 
to  have  stimulated  the  exertions  of  her  husband. 

Their  morality  was  of  the  old  Highland  cast,  faithful 
friends  and  fierce  enemies :  the  Lowland  herds  and  har- 
vests they  accounted  their  own,  whenever  they  had  the 
means  of  driving  off  the  one,  or  of  seizing  upon  the  other  ; 
nor  did  the  least  scruple  on  the  right  of  property  interfere 
on  such  occasions.  Hamish  Mhor  argued  like  the  old 
Cretan  warrior : 

My  sword,  my  spear,  my  shaggy  shield, 
They  make  me  lord  of  all  below  •, 


l  CHRONICLES    OF 

For  he  who  dreads  the  lance  to  wield, 

Before  my  shaggy  shield  must  how. 
His  lands,  his  vineyards,  must  resign, 

And  all  that  cowards  have  is  mine. 

But  those  days  of  perilous,  though  frequentlj  success- 
ful depredation,  began  to  be  abridged  after  the  failure  01 
the  expedition  of  Prince  Charles  Edward.  MacTavish 
Mhor  had  not  sat  still  on  that  occasion,  and  he  was  out- 
lawed, both  as  a  traitor  to  the  state,  and  as  a  robber  and 
cateran.  Garrisons  were  now  settled  in  many  places 
where  a  red  coat  had  never  before  been  seen,  and  the 
Saxon  war-drum  resounded  among  the  most  hidden  re- 
cesses of  the  Highland  mountains.  The  fate  of  MacTavish 
became  every  day  more  inevitable  ;  and  it  was  the  more 
difficult  for  him  to  make  his  exertions  for  defence  or  es- 
cape, that  Elspat,  amid  his  evil  days,  had  increased  his 
family  with  an  infant  child,  which  was  a  considerable  en- 
cumbrance upon  the  necessary  rapidity  of  their  motions. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  arrived.  In  a  strong  pass  on 
the  skirts  of  Ben  Cruachan,  the  celebrated  MacTavish 
Mhor  was  surprised  by  a  detachment  of  the  SidierRoy.27 
His  wife  assisted  him  heroically,  charging  his  piece  from 
time  to  time  ;  and  as  they  were  in  possession  of  a  post 
that  was  nearly  unassailable,  he  might  have  perhaps  es- 
caped if  his  ammunition  had  lasted.  But  at  length  his  balls 
were  expended,  although  it  was  not  until  he  had  fired  off 
most  of  the  silver  buttons  from  his  waistcoat,  and  the 
soldiers,  no  longer  deterred  by  fear  of  the  unerring  marks 
man,  who  had  slain  three,  and  wounded  more  of  their 
number,  approached  his  stronghold,  and,  unable  to  take 
him  alive,  slew  him,  after  a  most  desperate  resistance. 

All  this  Elspat  witnessed  and  survived,  for  she  had,  in 
Jie  child  which  relied  on  her  for  support,  a  motive  for 
strength  and  exertion.  In  what  manner  she  maintained 
herself  it  is  not  easy  to  say.  Her  only  ostensible  means 
of  support  were,  a  flock  of  three  or  four  goats,  which  she 
fed  wherever  she  pleased  on  the  mountain  pastures,  no 
one  challenging  the  intrusion.  In  the  general  distress  of 
the  country,  her  ancient  acquaintances  had  little  to  be 


THE    CAXOXGATE.  105 

Stow ;  but  what  they  could  part  with  from  their  owr 
necessities,  they  willingly  devoted  to  the  relief  of  others. 
From  Lowlanders  she  sometimes  demanded  tribute,  rath- 
er than  requested  alms.  She  had  not  forgotten  she  was 
the  widow  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  or  that  the  child  who 
trotted  by  her  knee  might,  such  were  her  imaginations, 
emulate  one  day  the  fame  of  his  father,  and  command  the 
same  influence  which  he  had  once  exerted  without  con- 
trol. She  associated  so  little  with  others,  went  so  seldom 
and  so  unwillingly  from  the  wildest  recesses  of  the  moun- 
tains, where  she  usually  dwelt  with  her  goats,  that  she 
was  quite  unconscious  of  the  great  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  the  country  around  her,  the  substitution  or 
civil  order  for  military  violence,  and  the  strength  gained 
by  the  law  and  its  adherents  over  those  who  were  called 
in  Gaelic  song,  "  the  stormy  sons  of  the  sword."  Her 
own  diminished  consequence  and  straitened  circumstances 
she  indeed  felt,  but  for  this  the  death  of  MacTavish  Mhor 
was,  in  her  apprehension,  a  sufficing  reason  ;  and  she 
doubted  not  that  she  should  rise  to  her  former  state  of 
importance,  when  Hamish  Bean  (or  Fair-haired  James) 
should  be  able  to  wield  the  arms  of  his  father.  If,  then, 
Elspat  was  repelled  rudely  when  she  demanded  anything 
necessary  for  her  wants,  or  the  accommodation  of  her 
little  flock,  by  a  churlish  farmer,  her  threats  of  vengeance, 
obscurely  expressed,  yet  terrible  in  their  tenor,  used  fre- 
quently to  extort,  through  fear  of  her  maledictions,  ihe 
relief  which  was  denied  to  her  necessities  ;  and  the  trem- 
bling goodwife,  who  gave  meal  or  money  to  the  widow  of 
MacTavish  Mhor,  wished  in  her  heart  that  the  stern  old 
carlin  had  been  burnt  on  the  day  her  husband  had  .lis 
due. 

Years  thus  ran  on,  and  Hamish  Bean  grew  up,  not  in- 
deed to  be  of  his  father's  size  or  strength,  but  to  become 
an  active,  high-spirited,  fair-haired  youth,  with  a  ruddj 
cheek,  an  eye  like  an  eagle,  and  all  the  agility,  if  not  all 
the  strength,  of  his  formidable  father,  upon  whose  history 
and  achievements  his  mother  dwelt,  in  order  to  form  her 
Bon's  mind  to  a  similar  course  of  adventures.  But  the 


106  CHKONICLES    OF 

young  see  the  present  state  of  this  changeful  world  more 
keenly  than  the  old.  Much  attached  to  his  mother,  and 
disposed  to  do  all  in  his  power  for  her  support,  Harnish 
yet  perceived,  when  he  mixed  with  the  world,  that  the 
trade  of  the  cateran  was  now  alike  dangerous  and  discred- 
itable, and  that  if  he  were  to  emulate  his  father's  prowess, 
it  must  be  in  some  other  line  of  warfare,  more  consonant 
to  the  opinions  of  the  present  day. 

As  the  faculties  of  rnind  and  body  began  to  expand 
he  became  more  sensible  of  the  precarious  nature  of  his 
situation,  of  the  erroneous  views  of  his  mother,  and  her 
ignorance  respecting  the  changes  of  the  society  with  which 
she  mingled  so  little.  In  visiting  friends  and  neighbours, 
he  became  aware  of  the  extremely  reduced  scale  to  which 
his  parent  was  limited,  and  learned  that  she  possessed 
little  or  nothing  more  than  the  absolute  necessaries  of  life, 
and  that  these  were  sometimes  on  the  point  of  failing. 
At  times  his  success  in  fishing  and  the  chase  was  able  to 
add  something  to  her  subsistence  ;  but  lie  saw  no  regular 
means  of  contributing  to  her  support,  unless  by  stooping 
to  servile  labour,  which,  if  he  himself  could  have  endured 
it,  would,  he  knew,  have  been  like  a  death's-wound  to  the 
pride  of  his  mother. 

Elspat,  meanwhile,  saw  with  surprise,  that  Harnish 
Bean,  although  now  tall  and  fit  for  the  field,  showed  no 
disposition  to  enter  on  his  father's  scene  of  action.  There 
was  something  of  the  mother  at  her  heart,  which  prevent- 
ed her  from  urging  him  in  plain  terms  to  take  the  field 
as  a  cateran,  for  the  fear  occurred  of  the  perils  into  which 
the  trade  must  conduct  him  ;  and  when  she  would  have 
spoken  to  him  on  the  subject,  it  seemed  to  her  heated 
imagination  as  if  the  ghost  of  her  husband  arose  between 
them  in  his  bloody  tartans,  and  laying  his  finger  on  his 
lips,  appeared  to  prohibit  the  topic.  Yet  she  wondered 
at  what  seemed  his  want  of  spirit,  sighed  as  she  saw  him 
from  day  to  day  lounging  about  in  the  long-skirted  Low- 
'and  coat,  which  the  legislature  had  imposed  upon  the 
Gael  instead  of  their  own  romantic  garb,  and  thought  how 
much  nearer  he  would  have  resembled  her  husband,  had 


THE    CAIfOSGATE.  107 

he  been  clad  in  the  belted  plaid  and  short  hose,  with  his 
polished  arms  gleaming  at  his  side. 

Besides  these  subjects  for  anxiety,  Elspat  had  others 
arising  from  the  engrossing  impetuosity  of  her  temper. 
Her  love  of  MacTavish  Mhor  had  been  qualified  by  re- 
spect and  sometimes  even  by  fear  ;  for  the  cateran  was 
not  the  species  of  man  who  submits  to  female  government ; 
but  over  his  son  she  had  exerted,  at  first  during  childhood, 
and  afterwards  in  early  youth,  an  imperious  authority, 
which  gave  her  maternal  love  a  character  of  jealousy. 
She  could  not  bear,  when  Hamish,  with  advancing  life, 
made  repeated  steps  towards  independence,  absented  him- 
self from  her  cottage  at  such  season,  and  for  such  length  ol 
time  as  he  chose,  and  seemed  to  consider,  although  main- 
taining towards  her  every  possible  degree  of  respect  and 
kindness,  that  the  control  and  responsibility  of  his  actions 
rested  on  himself  alone.  This  would  have  been  of  little 
consequence,  could  she  have  concealed  her  feelings  within 
her  own  bosom  ;  but  the  ardour  and  impatience  of  her 
passions  made  her  frequently  show  her  son  that  she  con- 
ceived herself  neglected  and  ill  used.  When  he  was 
absent  for  any  length  of  time  from  her  cottage,  without 
giving  intimation  of  his  purpose,  her  resentment  on  his 
return  used  to  be  so  unreasonable,  that  it  naturally  sug- 
gested to  a  young  man  fond  of  independence,  and  desir- 
ous to  amend  his  situation  in  the  world,  to  leave  her,  even 
for  the  very  purpose  of  enabling  him  to  provide  for  the 
parent  whose  egotistical  demands  on  his  filial  attention, 
tended  to  confine  him  to  a  desert,  in  which  both  were 
starving  in  hopeless  and  helpless  indigence. 

Upon  one  occasion,  the  son  having  been  guilty  of  some 
independent  excursion,  by  which  the  mother  fe.t  hrrselt 
affronted  and  disobliged,  she  had  been  more  than  usually 
violent  on  his  return,  and  awakened  in  Hamish  a  sense  of 
displeasure,  which  clouded  his  brow  and  cheek.  At 
length,  as  she  persevered  in  her  unreasonable  resentment, 
bis  patience  became  exhausted,  and  taking  his  gun  from 
the  chimney  corner,  and  muttering  to  himself  the  reply 
which  hi »  respect  for  his  mother  prevented  him  from  speak- 


108  CHRONICLES    OF 

ing  -aloud,  he.  was  about  to  leave  the  hut  which  he  had 
but  barely  entered. 

"  Hamish,"  said  his  mother,  "  are  you  again  about  to 
leave  me  9"  But  Hamish  only  replied  by  looking  at, 
and  rubbing  the  lock  of  his  gun. 

"  Ay,  rub  the  lock  of  your  gun,"  said  his  parent,  bit- 
terly ;  "  I  am  glad  you  have  courage  enough  to  fire  it, 
though  it  be  but  at  a  roe-deer."  Hamish  started  at  this 
undeserved  taunt,  and  cast  a  look  of  anger  at  her  in  reply. 
She  saw  that  she  had  found  the  means  of  giving  him  pain 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  look  fierce  as  you  will  at  an  old 
woman,  and  your  mother;  it  would  be  long  ere  you  bent 
your  brow  on  the  angry  countenance  of  a  bearded  man." 

"  Be  silent,  mother,  or  speak  of  what  you  understand," 
said  Hamish,  much  irritated,  "  and  that  is  of  the  distaff 
and  the  spindle." 

"  And  was  it  of  spindle  and  distaff  that  I  was  thinking 
when  I  bore  you  away  on  my  back,  through  the  fire  of 
six  of  the  Saxon  soldiers,  and  you  a  wailing  child  9  1 
tell  you,  Hamish,  I  know  a  hundred-fold  more  of  swords 
and  guns  than  ever  you  will  ;  and  you  will  never  learn  so 
much  of  noble  war  by  yourself,  as  you  have  seen  when 
you  were  wrapped  up  in  my  plaid." 

"  You  are  determined  at  least  to  allow  me  no  peace  at 
home,  mother;  but  this  shall  have  an  end,"  said  Hamish, 
as,  resuming  his  purpose  of  leaving  the  hut,  he  rose  and 
went  towards  the  door. 

"  Stay,  I  command  you,"  said  his  mother  ;  "  stay  ! 
or  may  the  gun  you  carry  be  the  means  of  your  ruin — 
may  the  road  you  are  going  be  the  track  of  your  funeral !" 

"  What  makes  you  use  such  words,  mother  9"  said  (lie 
young  man,  turning  a  little  back — "  they  are  not  good, 
and  good  cannot  come  of  them.  Farewell  just  now,  we 
are  too  angry  to  speak  together — farewell  ;  it  will  be 
long  ere  you  see  me  again."  And  he  departed,  his  moth- 
er, in  the  first  burst  of  her  impatience,  showering  after 
him  her  maledictions,  and  in  the  next  invoking  them  on 
her  own  head,  so  that  they  might  spare  her  son's.  She 
pissed  that  day  and  the  next  in  all  ths  vehemence  oi 


THE    CAJSONGATE.  109 

impotent  and  yet  unrestrained  passion,  now  entreating 
Heaven,  and  such  powers  as  were  familiar  to  her  by  rude 
tradition,  to  restore  he'r  dear  son,  "  the  calf  of  her  heart ;" 
now  in  impatient  resentment,  meditating  with  what  hetter 
Jenns  she  should  rebuke  his  filial  disobedience  upon  his 
return,  and  now  studying  the  most  tender  language  to 
attach  hirn  to  the  cottage,  which,  when  her  boy  was  pres- 
ent, she  would  not,  in  the  rapture  of  her  affection,  have 
exchanged  for  the  apartments  of  Taymouth  Castle. 

Two  days  passed,  during  which,  neglecting  even  the 
slender  means  of  supporting  nature  which  her  situation 
pfforded,  nothing  but  the  strength  of  a  frame  accustomed 
to  hardships  and  privations  of  every  kind,  could  have  kept 
her  in  existence,  notwithstanding  the  anguish  of  her  mind 
prevented  her  being  sensible  of  her  personal  weakness. 
Her  dwelling,  at  this  period,  was  the  same  cottage  near 
which  I  had  found  her,  but  then  more  habitable  by  the 
exertions  of  Hamish,  by  whom  it  had  been  in  a  great 
measure  built  and  repaired. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  her  son  had  disappeared, 
as  she  sat  at  the  door  rocking  herself,  after  the  fashion  of 
her  countrywomen  when  in  distress,  or  in  pain,  that  the 
then  unwonted  circumstance  occurred  of  a  passenger 
being  seen  on  the  high-road  above  the  cottage.  She  cast 
but  one  glance  at  him — he  was  on  horseback,  so  that  it 
could  not  be  Hamish,  and  Elspat  cared  not  enough  for 
any  other  being  on  earth,  to  make  her  turn  her  eyes  to- 
wards him  a  second  lime.  The  stranger,  however,  paus- 
ed opposite  to  her  cottage,  and  dismounting  from  his  pony, 
led  it  down  the  steep  and  broken  path  which  conducted 
to  her  door. 

"  God  bless  you,  Elspat  MacTavish  !" — She  looked  at 
the  man  as  he  addressed  her  in  her  native  language,  with 
the  displeased  air  of  one  whose  reverie  is  interrupted  ; 
but  the  traveller  went  on  to  say,  "  I  bring  you  tidings  ol 
your  son  Hamish."  At  once,  from  being  the  most  unin- 
teresting object,  in  respect  to  Elspat,  that  could  exist,  the 
form  of  the  stranger  became  awful  in  her  eyes,  as  that  ol 


110  CHRONICLES    OF 

a  messenger  descended  from  Heaven,  express  y  to  pio« 
nounce  upon  tier  death  or  life.  She  started  from  hef 
seat,  and  with  hands  convulsively  clasped  together,  and 
held  up  to  Heaven,  eyes  fixed  on  the  stranger's  counte- 
nance, and  person  stooping  forward  to  him,  she  looked 
those  inquiries,  which  her  faltering  tongue  could  not  ar- 
ticulate. "  Your  son  sends  you  his  dutiful  remembrance 
and  this,"  said  the  messenger,  putting  into  Elspat's  hand 
a  small  purse  containing  four  or  five  dollars. 

"  He  is  gone,  he  is  gone  !"  exclaimed  Elspat  ;  "  ne 
has  sold  himself  to  be  the  servant  of  the  Saxons,  and  I 
shall  never  more  behold  him.  Tell  me,  Miles  MacPhad- 
raick,  for  now  I  know  you,  is  it  the  price  of  the  son's  blood 
that  you  have  put  into  the  mother's  hand  *?" 

"  Now,  God  forbid  !"  answered  MacPhadraick,  who 
was  a  tacksman,  and  had  possession  of  a  considerable 
tract  of  ground  under  his  Chief,  a  proprietor  who  lived 
about  twenty  miles  off — "  God  forbid  I  should  do  wrong, 
or  say  wrong,  to  you,  or  to  the  son  of  JYlacTavish  Mhor  ! 
I  swear  to  you  by  the  hand  of  my  Chief,  that  your  son  is 
well,  and  will  soon  see  you  ;  and  the  rest  he  will  tell  you 
himself."  So  saying,  MacPhadraick  hastened  back  up 
the  pathway — gained  the  road,  mounted  his  pony,  and 
rode  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER  X. 


ELSPAT  MACTAVISH  remained  gazing  on  the  money 
as  if  the  impress  of  the  coin  could  have  conveyed  infor 
mation  how  it  was  procured. 

"  I  love  not  this  MacPhadraick,"  she  said  to  herself  ; 
"  it  was  his  race  of  whom  the  Bard  hath  spoken,  saying. 
Fear  them  not  when  their  words  are  loud  as  the  winter's 
wind,  but  fear  them  when  thev  fall  on  you  like  the  sound 


THE    CANON GATE. 


Ill 


of  the  thrush's  song.  And  yet  this  riddle  cai  be  read 
but  one  way  :  My  son  hath  taken  the  sword,  to  xvin  that 
with  strength  like  a  man,  which  churls  would  keep  him 
from  with  the  words  that  frighten  children."  This  idea, 
when  once  it  occurred  to  her,  seemed  the  more  reasona- 
ble, that  MacPhadraick,  as  she  well  knew,  himself  a  cau- 
tious man,  had  so  far  encouraged  her  husband's  practices, 
as  occasionally  to  buy  cattle  of  MacTavish,  although  he 
rnu3t  have  well  known  how  they  were  come  by,  taking 
care,  however,  that  the  transaction  was  so  made,  as  to  be 
accompanied  with  great  profit  and  absolute  safety.  Who 
so  likely  as  MacPhadraick  to  indicate  to  a  young  cateran 
the  glen  in  which  he  could  commence  his  perilous  trade 
with  most  prospect  of  success,  who  so  likely  to  convert 
his  booty  into  money  ?  The  feelings  which  another  might 
have  experienced  on  believing  that  an  only  son  had  rush- 
ed forward  on  the  same  path  in  which  his  father  had  per- 
ished, were  scarce  known  to  the  Highland  mothers  of 
that  day.  She  thought  of  the  death  of  MacTavish  Mhor 
as  that  of  a  hero  who  had  fallen  in  his  proper  trade  of 
war,  and  who  had  not  fallen  unavenged.  She  feared  less 
for  her  son's  life  than  for  his  dishonour.  She  dreaded 
on  his  account  the  subjection  to  strangers,  and  the  death- 
sleep  of  the  soul  which  is  brought  on  by  what  she  regard- 
ed as  slavery. 

The  moral  principle  which  so  naturally  and  so  justly 
occurs  to  the  mind  of  those  who  have  been  educated  un- 
der a  settled  government  of  laws  that  protect  the  property 
of  the  weak  against  the  incursions  of  the  strong,  was  to 
poor  Elspat  a  book  sealed  and  a  fountain  closed.  She 
had  been  taught  to  consider  those  whom  they  called  Sax- 
ons, as  a  race  with  whom  the  Gael  were  constantly  at 
war,  anil  she  regarded  every  settlementof  theirs  within  the 
reach  of  Highland  incursion,  as  affording  a  legitimate  ob- 
ject of  attack  and  plunder.  Her  feelings  on  this  point 
had  been  strengthened  and  confirmed,  not  only  by  the 
desire  of  revenge  for  the  death  of  her  husband,  but  by 
the  sense  of  general  indignation  entertained,  not  unjustly, 
through  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  on  account  of  the 


112  CHRONICLES    OF 

barbaious  and  violent  conduct  of  the  victors  after  tno 
battle  of  Culloden.  Other  Highland  clans,  too,  she  re- 
garded as  the  fair  objects  of  plunder  when  that  was  pos- 
sible, upon  the  score  of  ancient  enmities  and  deadly  feuds 
The  prudence  that  might  have  weighed  the  slendet 
means  which  the  times  afforded  for  resisting  the  efforts  of  a 
combined  government,  which  had,  in  its  less  compact  and 
established  authority,  been  unable  to  put  down  the  rava- 
ges of  such  lawless  caterans  as  MacTavish  Mhor,  was 
unknown  to  a  solitary  woman,  whose  ideas  still  dwelt  upon 
her  own  early  times.  She  imagined  that  her  son  had 
only  to  proclaim  himself  his  father's  successor  in  adven- 
ture and  enterprize,  and  that  a  force  of  men  as  gallant  as 
those  who  had  followed  his  father's  banner,  would  crowd 
around  to  support  it  when  again  displayed.  To  her 
Hamisb  was  the  eagle  who  had  only  to  soar  aloft  and  re- 
sume his  native  place  in  the  skies,  without  her  being  able 
to  comprehend  how  many  additional  eyes  would  have 
watched  his  flight,  how  many  additional  bullets  would  have 
been  directed  at  his  bosom.  To  be  brief,  Elspat  was 
one  who  viewed  the  present  state  of  society  with  the  same 
feelings  with  which  she  regarded  the  times  that  had  passed 
away.  She  had  been  indigent,  neglected,  oppressed,  since 
the  days  that  her  husband  had  no  longer  been  feared  and 
powerful,  and  she  thought  that  the  term  of  her  ascend- 
ance would  return  when  her  son  had  determined  to  play 
the  part  of  his  father.  If  she  permitted  her  eye  to  glance 
fartherintofuturity,  it  was  but  to  anticipate  that  she  must 
be  for  many  a  day  cold  in  the  grave,  with  the  coronach  ot 
her  tribe  cried  duly  over  her,  before  her  fair-haired  Ha- 
mish  could,  according  to  her  calculation,  die  with  his  hand 
on  the  basket-hilt  of  the  red  claymore.  His  father's  hair 
was  grey,  ere,  after  a  hundred  dangers,  he  had  fallen  with 
his  arms  in  his  hands — That  she  should  have  seen  and 
survived  the  sight,  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the  man- 
ners of  that  age.  And  better  it  was — such  was  her  proud 
thought — that  she  had  seen  him  so  die,  than  to  have  wit- 
nessed his  departure  from  life  in  a  smoky  hovel — on  a 
bed  of  rotten  straw,  like  an  over-worn  hound,  or  a  bul- 


THE    CANO.VGATE. 


113 


lock  which  died  of  disease.  But  the  ho  ir  of  .ier  young, 
ner  brave  Hainish,  was  yet  far  distant.  He  must  suc- 
ceed— he  must  conquer,  like  his  father.  And  when  he 
fell  at  length, — for  she  anticipated  for  him  no  bloodless 
oea'h, — Elspat  would  ere  then  have  lain  long  in  the  grave, 
and  could  neither  see  his  death-struggle,  nor  mourn  over 
his  grave-sod. 

With  such  wild  notions  working  in  her  brain,  the  spirit 
of  Elspat  rose  to  its  usual  pitch,  or  rather  to  one  which 
seemed  higher.  In  the  emphatic  language  of  Scripture, 
which  in  that  idiom  does  not  greatly  differ  from  her  own, 
she  arose,  she  washed  and  changed  her  apparel,  and  ate 
bread,  and  was  refreshed. 

She  longed  eagerly  for  the  return  of  her  son,  but  she 
now  longed  not  with  the  bitter  anxiety  of  doubt  and  ap- 
prehension. She  said  to  herself,  that  much  must  be  done 
ere  he  could  in  these  times  arise  to  be  an  eminent  and 
dreaded  leader.  Yet  when  she  saw  him  again,  she  almost 
expected  him  at  the  head  of  a  daring  band,  with  pipes 
playing,  and  banners  flying,  the  noble  tartans  fluttering 
free  in  the  wind,  in  despite  of  tire  laws  which  had  sup- 
pressed, under  severe  penalties,  the  use  of  the  national 
garb,  and  all  the  appurtenances  of  Highland  chivalry. 
For  all  this,  her  eager  imagination  was  content  only  to 
allow  the  interval  of  some  days. 

From  the  moment  this  opinion  had  taken  deep  and 
serious  possession  of  her  mind,  her  thoughts  were  bent 
upon  receiving  her  son  at  the  head  of  his  adherents  in 
the  manner  in  which  she  used  to  adorn  her  hut  for  the 
return  of  his  father. 

The  substantial  means  of  subsistence  she  had  not  the 
power  of  providing,  nor  did  she  consider  that  of  import- 
ance. The  successful  caterans  would  bring  with  them 
herds  and  flocks.  But  the  interior  of  her  hut  was  ar- 
ranged for  their  reception — the  usquebaugh  was  brewed 
or  distilled  in  a  larger  quantity  than  it  could  have  been 
supposed  one  lone  wornan  could  have  made  ready  Her 
hut  was  put  into  such  order  as  might,  in  some  degree, 
531 


'  CHRONICLES    Or 

give  it  the  appearance  of  a  day  of  rejoicing.  It  was  ?wept 
and  decorated  with  boughs  of  various  kinds,  liice  the  house 
of  a  Jewess,  upon  what  is  termed  the  Feast  of  the  Tab- 
ernacles. The  produce  of  the  milk  of  her  little  flock 
was  prepared  in  as  great  variety  of  forms  as  her  skill  ad- 
mitted, to  entertain  her  son  and  his  associates  whom  she 
expected  to  receive  along  with  him. 

But  the  principal  decoration,  which  she  sought  with 
the  greatest  toil,  was  the  cloud-berry,  a  scarlet  fruit, 
which  is  only  found  on  very  high  hills,  and  there  only  in 
small  quantities.  Her  husband,  or  perhaps  one  of  his 
forefathers,  had  chosen  this  as  the  emblem  of  his  family, 
because  it  seemed  at  once  to  imply  by  its  scarcity  the 
smallness  of  their  clan,  and  by  the  places  in  which  it  was 
found,  the  ambitious  height  of  their  pretensions. 

For  the  time  that  these  simple  preparations  of  welcome 
endured,  Elspat  was  in  a  state  of  troubled  happiness.  In 
fact,  her  only  anxiety  was  that  she  might  be  able  to  com- 
plete all  that  she  could  do  to  welcome  Hamish  and  the 
friends  who  she  supposed  must  have  attached  themselves 
to  his  band,  before  they  should  arrive,  and  find  her  un- 
provided for  their  reception. 

But  when  such  efforts  as  she  could  make  had  been  ac- 
complished, she  once  more  had  nothing  left  to  engage  her 
save  the  trifling  care  of  her  goats  ;  and  when  these  had 
been  attended  to,  she  had  only  to  review  her  little  pre- 
parations, renew  such  as  were  of  a  transitory  nature,  re- 
place decayed  branches  and  fading  boughs,  and  then  to 
sit  down  at  her  cottage  door  and  watch  the  road,  as  it 
ascended  on  the  one  side  from  the  banks  of  the  Awe,  and 
on  the  other  wound  round  the  heights  of  the  mountain, 
with  such  a  degree  of  accommodation  to  hill  and  level  as 
•.he  plan  of  the  military  engineer  permitted.  While  so 
Decupled,  her  imagination,  anticipating  the  future  from 
recollections  of  the  past,  formed  out  of  the  morning  mist 
or  the  evening  cloud  the  wild  forms  of  an  advancing  band, 
whicK  were  then  called  "  Sidier  Dhu," — dark  soldiers 
dressed  in  their  native  tartan,  and  so  named  to  distinguish 


THE    CANOSGATE.  115 

them  from  the  scarlet  ranks  of  the  British  army.  In  this 
occupation  she  spent  many  hours  of  eacli  mor  ing  and 
evening. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


IT  was  in  vain  that  Elspat's  eyes  surveyed  the  distant 
path,  by  the  earliest  light  of  the  dawn  and  the  latest  glim- 
mer of  the  twilight.  No  rising  dust  awakened  the  ex- 
pectation of  nodding  plumes  or  flashing  arms — the  solitary 
traveller  trudsred  listlesslv  along  in  his  brown  Lowland 

j  O 

great-coat,  his  tartans  dyed  black  or  purple,  to  comply 
with  or  evade  the  law  which  prohibited  their  being  worn 
in  their  variegated  hues.  The  spirit  of  the  Gael,  sunk 
and  broken  by  the  severe  though  perhaps  necessary  laws, 
that  proscribed  the  dress  and  arms  which  he  considered 
as  his  birthright,  was  intimated  by  his  drooping  head  and 
dejected  appearance.  Not  in  such  depressed  wanderers 
did  Elspat  recognize  the  light  and  free  step  of  her  son,  now, 
as  she  concluded,  regenerated  from  every  sign  of  Saxon 
thraldom.  Night  by  night,  as  darkness  came,  she  re- 
moved from  her  unclosed  door  to  throw  herself  on  her 
restless  pallet,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  watch.  The  brave  and 
the  terrible,  she  said,  walk  by  night — their  steps  are  heard 
in  darkness,  when  all  is  silent  save  the  whirlwind  and  the 
cataract — the  timid  deer  comes  only  forth  when  the  sun 
is  upon  the  mountain's  peak  ;  but  the  bold  wolf  walks  in 
ihe  red  light  of  the  harvest-moon.  She  reasoned  in  vain 
— her  son's  expected  summons  did  not  call  her  from  the 
owly  cmich,  where  she  lay  dreaming  of  his  approach. 
Hamish  came  not. 

"  Hope  deferred,"  saith  the  royal  sage,  "  maketh  the 
"cart  sick  ;"  and  strong  as  was  Elspat's  constitution,  she 
:egan  to  experience  that  it  was  unequal  to  the  toils  to 
which  her  anxious  and  immoderate  affection  subjected 


CHRONICLES    01? 

her,  vv\ien  early  one  morning  the  appearance  of  a  travel 
ler  on  the  lonely  mountain-road,  revived  hopes  which  had 
oegun  to  sink  into  listless  despair.  There  was  no  sign  ol 
Saxon  subjugation  about  the  stranger.  At  a  distance  she 
could  see  the  flutter  of  the  belted-plaid,  that  drooped  in 
graceful  folds  behind  him,  and  the  plume  that,  placed  in 
the  bonnet,  showed  rank  and  gentle  birth.  He  carried 
a  gun  over  his  shoulder,  the  claymore  was  swinging  by 
his  side,  with  its  usual  appendages,  the  dirk,  the  pistol, 
and  the  sporran  moilach.*  Ere  yet  her  eye  had  scanned 
all  these  particulars,  the  light  step  of  the  traveller  was 
hastened,  his  arm  was  waved  in  token  of  recognition — a 
moment  more,  and  Elspat  held  in  her  arms  her  darling 
son,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  his  ancestors,  and  looking,  in 
her  maternal  eyes,  the  fairest  among  ten  thousand. 

The  first  outpouring  of  affection  it  would  be  impossible 
to  describe.  Blessings  mingled  with  the  most  endearing 
epithets  which  her  energetic  language  affords,  in  striving 
to  express  the  wild  rapture  of  Elspat's  joy.  Her  board 
was  heaped  hastily  with  all  she  had  to  offer  ;  and  the 
mother  watched  the  young  soldier,  as  he  partook  of  the 
refreshment,  with  feelings  how  similar  to,  yet  how  differ- 
ent from,  those  with  which  she  had  seen  him  draw  his 
first  sustenance  from  her  bosom  ' 

When  the  tumult  of  joy  was  appeased,  Elspat  becamt- 
anxious  to  know  her  son's  adventures  since  they  parted 
and  could  not  help  greatly  censuring  his  rashness  for  tra 
versing  the  hills  in  the  Highland  dress  in  Lie  broad  sun 
shine,  when  the  penalty  was  so  heavy,  and  so  many  red 
soldiers  were  abroad  in  the  country. 

"  Fear  not  for  me,  mother,"  said  Hairish,  in  a  tone 
designed  to  relieve  her  anxiety,  and  yet  somewhat  eir- 
oarrasscd  ;  "  I  may  wear  the  breacnn\  at  the  gals  o* 
Fort-Augustus,  if  I  like  it." 

"  Oh.  be  not  too  daring,  in.)  beloved  Hamish,  thcug^ 
t  be  the  fault  which  best  becomes  th)  father's  son — yet 

*  Toe  goat-skin  pouch  worn  by  the  Highlanders  round  the:r  wbi*. 
t  That  which  is  var  seated,  i.  e.  the  tartan. 


THE    CA.VONOATE.  117 

be  not  too  flaring  !  Alas,  they  fight  not  now  as  in  forme' 
days,  with  fair  weapons,  and  on  equal  terms,  but  take 
odds  of  numbers  and  of  arms,  so  that  the  feeble  and  the 
strong  are  alike  levelled  by  the  shot  of  a  boy.  And  do 
not  think  me  unworthy  to  be  called  your  father's  widow, 
and  your  mother,  because  I  speak  thus  ;  for  God  know- 
eth,  that,  man  to  man,  I  would  peril  thee  against  the  best 
<n  Breadalbane,  and  broad  Lorn  besides." 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dearest  mother,"  replied  Hamish, 
"  that  1  am  in  no  danger.  But  have  you  seen  Mac- 
Phadraick,  mother,  and  what  has  he  said  to  you  on  my 
account  ?" 

"  Silver  he  left  me  in  plenty,  Hamish  ;  but  the  best  oi 
his  comfort  was,  that  you  were  weS,,  and  would  see  me 
soon.  But  beware  of  MacPhadraick,  my  son  ;  for  when 
he  called  himself  the  friend  of  your  father,  he  better  loved 
the  most  worthless  stirk  in  his  herd,  than  he  did  the  life- 
blood  of  MacTavish  Mhor.  Use  his  services,  therefore, 
and  pay  him  for  them — for  it  is  thus  we  should  deal  with 
the  unworthy  ;  but  take  my  counsel,  and  trust  him  not." 

Hamish  could  not  suppress  a  sigh,  which  seemed  to 
Elspat  to  intimate  that  the  caution  came  too  late.  "  What 
have  you  done  with  him  *?"  she  continued,  eager  and 
alarmed.  "  I  had  money  of  him,  and  he  gives  not  that 
without  value — he  is  none  of  those  who  exchange  barley 
for  chaff.  Oh,  if  you  repent  you  of  your  bargain,  and 
if  it  be  one  which  you  may  break  off  without  disgrace  to 
your  truth  or  your  manhood,  take  back  his  silver,  and 
trust  not  to  his  fair  words." 

"  It  may  not  be,  mother,"  said  Hamish  ;  "  I  do  not 
repent  my  engagement,  unless  that  it  must  make  me  cave 
you  soon." 

"  Leave  me  !  how  leave  me  "?  Silly  boy,  think  you  1 
know  not  what  duty  belongs  to  the  wife  or  mother  of  a 
daring  man  ?  Thou  art  but  a  boy  yet  ;  and  when  thy 
father  had  been  the  dread  of  the  country  for  twenty  years 
he  did  not  despise  my  company  and  assistance,  but  often 
said  my  IHp  was  worth  that  of  two  strong  gillies." 


118  CHROMCLKS    OF 

"  It  is  not  on  that  score,  mother  ;  but  since  I  must  leave 
ihe  country " 

''  Leave  the  country  !"  replied  his  mother,  interrupt- 
ing him  ;  "  and  think  you  thai  I  am  like  a  bush,  that  is 
rooted  to  the  soil  where  it  grows,  and  must  die  if  carried 
elsewhere  9  I  have  breathed  other  winds  than  these  ot 
Ben  Cruachan — 1  have  followed  your  father  to  the  wild? 
of  Ross,  and  the  impenetrable  deserts  of  Y  Mac  Y  Mhoi 
— Tush,  man,  my  limbs,  old  as  they  are,  will  bear  me  as 
far  as  your  young  feet  can  trace  the  way." 

"  Alas,  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  faltering 
accent,  "  but  to  cross  the  sea " 

"  The  sea  !  who  am  I  that  1  should  fear  the  sea  9 
Have  I  never  been  in  a  birling  in  my  life — never  known 
the  sound  of  Mull,  the  Isles  of  Treshornish,  and  the 
rough  rocks  of  Harris  9" 

"  Alas,  mother,  I  go  far,  far  from  all  of  these — 1  am 
enlisted  in  one  of  the  new  regiments,  and  we  go  against 
the  French  in  America." 

"  Enlisted  !"  uttered  the  astonished  mother — "  against 
my  will — without  my  consent — You  could  not — you  would 
not," — then  rising  up,  and  assuming  a  posture  of  almost 
imperial  command,  "  Hamish,  you  DARED  not  !" 

"  Despair,  mother,  dares  everything,"  answered  Ha- 
rnish,  in  a  tone  of  melancholy  resolution.  "  What  should 
I  do  here,  where  I  can  scarce  get  bread  for  myself  and 
you,  and  when  the  times  are  growing  daily  worse  9  Would 
you  but  sit  down  and  listen,  I  would  convince  you  I  have 
acted  for  the  best." 

With  a  bitter  smile  Elspat  sat  down,  and  the  same  se- 
vere ironical  expression  was  on  her  features,  as,  with  her 
lips  firmly  closed,  she  listened  to  his  vindication. 

Hamish  went  on,  without  being  disconcerted  by  her 
expected  displeasure.  "  When  I  left  you,  dearest  mother, 
it  was  to  go  to  MacPhadraick's  house,  for  although  I  know 
he  is  crafty  and  worldly,  after  the  fasfuon  of  the  Sasse- 
nach, yet  he  is  wise,  and  I  thought  how  he  would  teach 
me  as  it  would  cost  him  nothing,  in  which  way  I  could 
mend  our  estate  in  the  vvorl  ." 


THE    CA1VONKATK.  I  IS 

"  Our  estate  in  the  world  !"  said  Elspnt,  losing  patience 
at  the  word  ;  "  and  went  you  to  a  base  fellow  with  a  soul 
no  better  than  that  of  a  cowherd,  to  ask  counsel  about 
your  conduct  *?   Your  father  asked  none,  save  of  his  cour 
age  and  his  sword." 

"  Dearest  mother,"  answered  Harnish.  "  how  shall  I 
convince  you  that  you  live  in  this  land  of  our  fathers,  as 
if  our  fathers  were  yet  living  *?  You  walk  as  it  were  in  a 
dream,  surrounded  by  the  phantoms  of  those  who  have 
been  long  with  the  dead.  When  my  father  lived  and 
fought,  the  great  respected  the  Man  of  the  strong  right 
hand,  and  the  rich  feared  him.  He  had  protection  Irom 
Mac  Allan  iMhor,  and  from  Caberfae,28and  tribute  from 
meaner  men.  That  is  ended,  and  his  son  would  only 
earn  a  disgraceful  and  unpitied  death,  by  the  practices 
which  gave  his  father  credit  and  power  among  those  who 
wear  the  breacan.  The  land  is  conquered — its  lights  are 
cjuenched, — Glengary,  Lochiel,  Perth,  Lord  Lewis,  all 
the  high  chiefs  are  dead  or  in  exile — We  may  mourn  for 
it,  but  we  cannot  help  it.  Bonnet,  broadsword,  and  spor- 
ran— power,  strength,  and  wealth,  were  all  lost  on  Drum- 
mossie-muir." 

"  It  is  false  !"  said  Elspat,  fiercely  ;  "  you,  and  such 
like  dastardly  spirits,  are  quelled  by  your  own  fainthearts, 
not  by  the  strength  of  the  enemy  ;  you  are  like  the  fear- 
full  waterfowl,  to  whom  the  least  cloud  in  the  sky  seems 
the  shadow  of  the  eagle." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  proudly,  "  lay  not  faint  heart 
to  my  charge.  I  go  where  men  are  wanted  who  have 
strong  arms  and  bold  hearts  too.  I  leave  a  desert,  for  a 
land  where  I  may  gather  fame." 

"  And  you  leave  your  mother  to  perish  in  want,  age, 
and  solitude,"  said  Elspat,  essaying  successively  every 
means  of  moving  a  resolution,  which  she  began  to  see 
was  more  deeply  rooted  than  she  had  at  first  thought 

"  Not  30,  neither,"  he  answered  ;  "  1  leave  you  tc 
comfort  a.ij  certainty,  which  you  have  yet  never  known. 
Barcalc'ine  s  son  is  made  a  leader,  and  with  him  I  have 


'20  CHRONICLES    OF 

enrolled  myself;  MacPhadraick  acts  for  him,  and  raises 
men,  and  finds  his  own  in  doing  it." 

"  That  is  the  truest  word  of  the  talc,  were  all  the  rest 
as  false  as  hell,"  said  the  old  woman,  bitterly. 

"  But  we  are  to  find  our  good  in  it  also,"  continued 
Hamish ;  "  for  Barcaldine  is  to  give  you  a  shieling  in  his 
wood  of  Letter-fiudreight,  with  grass  for  your  goats,  and 
a  cow,  when  you  please  to  have  one,  on  the  common  ; 
arid  my  own  pay,  dearest  mother,  though  1  am  far  away, 
will  do  more  than  provide  you  with  meal,  and  with  all  else 
you  can  want.  Do  not  fear  for  me.  I  enter  a  private 
gentleman  ;  hut  I  will  return,  if  hard  fighting  and  regular 
duty  can  deserve  it,  an  officer,  and  with  half  a  dollar 
a-day." 

"  Poor  child  ! — "  replied  Elspat,  in  a  tone  of  pily 
mingled  with  contempt,  "  and  you  trust  AlacPhadraiek  *?" 

"  I  might,  mother — "  said  Hamish,  the  dark  red  col- 
our of  his  race  crossing  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  "  for 
MacPhadraick  knows  the  hlood  which  flows  in  my  veins, 
and  is  aware,  that  should  he  hreak  trust  with  you,  he 
might  count  the  days  which  could  hring  Hamish  hack  to 
Breadalbane,  and  number  those  of  his  life  within  three 
suns  more.  I  would  kill  him  at  his  own  hearth,  did  he 
break  his  word  with  me — 1  would,  by  the  great  Being 
who  made  us  both  !" 

The  look  and  attitude  of  the  young  soldier  for  a  mo- 
ment overawed  Elspat ;  she  was  unused  to  see  him  express 
a  deep  and  bitter  mood,  which  reminded  her  so  strongly 
of  his  father,  but  she  resumed  her  remonstrances  in  the 
same  taunting  manner  in  which  she  had  commenced  tliem 

"  Poor  boy  !"  she  said  ;  "  and  you  think  that  at  the 
distance  of  half  the  world  your  threats  will  be  heard -or 
thought  of!  But,  go — go — place  your  neck  under  him  of 
Hanover's  yoke,  against  whom  every  true  Gael  fought  to 
'he  death — Go,  disown  the  royal  Stuart,  for  whom  your 
father,  and  his  fathers,  and  your  mother's  fathers,  have 
crimsoned  many  a  field  with  their,  blood. — Go,  put  your 
head  under  the  belt  of  one  of  the  race  of  Dermid,  whos« 
ihildren  murdered — Yes,"  she  added,  with  a  wild  shriek 


THE    CANONGATK.  121 

"  murdered  your  mother's  fathers  in  their  peaceful  dwel 
lings  in  Gleucoe  ! — Yes,"  she  again  exclaimed,  with  a 
wilder  and  shriller  scream,  "  I  was  then  unborn,  but  my 
mother  has  told  me — and  I  attended  to  the  voice  of  my 
mother — well  1  remember  her  words  ! — They  came  in 
peace,  and  were  received  in  friendship,  and  blood  and 
(irs  arose,  and  screams  and  murder  !"~ 

"  Mother,"  answered  Hamish,  mournfully,  but  with  a 
decided  tone,  "  all  that  1  have  thought  over — there  is 
not  a  drop  of  the  blood  of  Glencoe  on  the  noble  hand  of 
Barcaldine — with  the  unhappy  house  of  Glenlyon  the 
curse  remains,  and  on  them  God  hath  avenged  it." 

"  You  speak  like  the  Saxon  priest  already,"  replied 
his  mother  ;  "  will  you  not  better  stay,  and  ask  a  kirk 
from  MacAllan  Mhor,  that  you  may  preach  forgiveness 
to  the  race  of  Dermid  *?" 

"  Yesterday  was  yesterday,"  answered  Hamish,  ';  and 
to-day  is  .to-day.  When  the  clans  are  crushed  and  con- 
founded together,  it  is  well  and  wise  that  their  hatreds 
and  their  feuds  should  not  survive  their  independence  and 
their  power.  He  that  cannot  execute  vengeance  like  a 
man,  should  not  harbour  useless  enmity  like  a  craven. 
Mother,  young  Barcaldine  is  true  and  brave  ;  i  know  that 
MacPhadraick  counselled  him,  that  he  should  not  let  me 
take  leave  of  you,  lest  you  dissuaded  me  from  my  pur- 
pose ;  but  he  said,  '  Hamish  MacTavish  is  the  son  of  a 
brave  man,  and  he  will  not  break  his  word.'  Mother, 
Barcaldine  leads  an  hundred  of  the  bravest  of  the  sons  of 
the  Gael  in  their  native  dress,  and  with  their  fathers'  arms 
— heart  to  heart — shoulder  to  shoulder.  J  have  sworn 
to  go  with  him — He  has  trusted  me,  and  1  will  trust  him." 

At  this  reply,  so  firmly  and  resolvedly  pronounced, 
Elspat  remained  like  one  thunderstruck,  and  sunk  in  des- 
pair. The  arguments  which  she  had  cons'dered  so  irre- 
sistibly conclusive,  had  recoiled  like  a  wave  from  a  rock. 
Alter  a  long  pause,  she  filled  her  son's  quaigh,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  hiir  with  an  air  of  dejected  deference  and 
submission. 

VOL.     i 


122  ••IIUOMCI.KS    OF 

"  Drink,"  she  said,  "  to  thy  Tailor's  roof-tree,  ere  you 
leave  it  tor  ever  ;  and  tell  me, — since  the  chains  of  a  new 
King,  and  of  a  new  duel,  whom  your  fathers  knew  not 
save  as  mortal  enemies,  are  fastened  upon  the  limhs  of 
your  father's  son, — tell  me  how  many  links  you  count 
U|jon  them  *?" 

Hamish  took  the  cup,  but  looked  at  her  as  if  uncertain 
of  her  meaning.  She  proceeded  in  a  raised  voice. 
"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "  for  1  have  a  right  to  know,  for 
how  many  days  the  will  of  those  you  have  made  your 
masters  permits  me  to  look  upon  you  9 — In  other  words, 
how  many  are  the  days  of  my  life  9  for  when  you  leave 
me,  the  earth  has  naught  besides  worth  living  for  !" 

"  Mother,"  replied  Hamish  MacTavish,  "  for  six  days 
1  may  remain  with  you,  and  if  you  will  set  out  with  me  on 
the  fifth,  I  will  conduct  you  in  safety  to  your  new  dwel- 
ling. But  if  you  remain  here,  then  I  will  depart  on  the 
seventh  by  day-break — then,  as  at  the  last  moment,  I 
MUST  set  cut  for  Dunbarton,  for  if  1  appear  not  on  the 
eighth  day,  I  am  subject  to  punishment  as  a  deserter,  and 
am  dishonoured  as  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Your  father's  foot."  she  answered,  "  was  free  as  the 
wind  on  the  heath — it  were  as  vain  to  say  to  him  where 
goest  thou,  as  to  ask  that  viewless  driver  of  the  clouds, 
wherefore  blowest  thou.  Tell  me  under  what  penalty 
thou  must — since  go  thou  must,  and  go  thou  wilt — return 
to  thy  thraldom  9" 

"  Call  it  not  thraldom,  mother,  it  is  the  service  of  an 
honou-able  soldier — the  only  service  which  is  now  open 
to  the  son  of  MacTavish  Mhor." 

"  Yet  say  what  is  the  penalty  if  thou  shouldst  not  re- 
turn 9"  replied  Elspat. 

"  Military  punishment  as  a  deserter,"  answered  Ha- 
rmsh  ;  writliing,  however,  as  his  mother  failed  not  to  ob- 
serve, under  some  internal  feelings,  which  she  resolved 
lo  probe  to  the  uttermost. 

"  Aiid  that,"  she  said,  with  assumed  calmness,  which 
her  glancing  eye  disowned,  "  is  the  punishment  of  a  d's» 
obedien*  hound,  is  it  *ot  ?" 


THE    CANONGATK.  123 

'*  Ask  me  no  more,  mother,"  said  Hamish  ;  "  the  pun- 
ishment is  nothing  to  one  who  will  never  deserve  it." 

"  To  me  it  is  something,"  replied  Elspat,  "  since  I 
know  better  than  thou,  that  where  there  is  power  to  iivflict 
there  is  often  the  will  to  do  so  without  cause.  1  would 
pray  for  thee,  Hamish,  and  I  must  know  against  what 
evils  I  should  beseech  Him  who  leaves  none  unguarded, 
to  protect  thy  youth  and  simplicity." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  "  it  signifies  little  to  what  a 
criminal  may  be  exposed,  if  a  man  is  determined  not  to 
be  such.  Our  Highland  chiefs  used  also  {o  punish  their 
vassals,  and,  as  I  have  heard,  severely — Was  it  not 
Lachlan  Marian,  whom  we  remember  of  old,  whose  head 
was  struck  off  by  order  of  his  chieftain  for  shooting  at  the 
stag  before  him  '')" 

"  Ay,"  said  Elspat,  "  and  right  he  had  to  lose  it,  since 
he  dishonoured  the  father  of  the  people  even  in  the  face 
of  the  assembled  clan.  But  the  chiefs  were  noble  in  their 
ire — they  punished  with  the  sharp  blade,  and  not  with 
the  baton.  Their  punishments  drew  blood,  but  they  did 
not  infer  dishonour.  Canst  thou  say  the  same  for  the 
laws  under  whose  yoke  thou  hast  placed  thy  free-born 
neck  9" 

"  I  cannot — mother — I  cannot,"  said  Hamish,  mourn 
fully.  "  1  saw  them  punish  a  Sassenach  for  deserting, 
as  they  called  it,  his  banner.  He  was  scourged — I  own 
it — scourged  like  a  hound  who  has  offended  an  imperious 
master.  I  was  sick  at  the  sight — I  confess  it.  But  the 
punishment  of  dogs  is  only  for  those  worse  than  dogs, 
who  know  not  how  to  keep  their  faith." 

"  To  this  infamy,  however,  thou  hast  subjected  thyself 
Hamish,"  replied  Elspat,  "  if  thou  shouldst  give,  or  thy 
officers  take,  measure  of  offence  against  thee. — I  speak 
no  more  to  thee  on  thy  purpose. — Were  the  sixth  day 
from  this  morning  sun  my  dying  day,  and  thou  wert  tc 
stay  to  close  mine  eyes,  thou  wouldst  run  the  risk  of  be- 
ing lashed  like  a  dog  at  a  post — yes  !  unless  thou  hads,' 
the  gallant  heart  to  leave  me  to  die  alone,  and  upon  my 
desolate  hearthi  '.he  last  spark  of  thy  father's  fire,  and  o) 


124  CHRONICLES    OF 

thy  forsaken  mother's  life,  to  be  extinguished  together  !" 
—  Hamish  traversed  the  hut  with  an  impatient  and  angry 
pace. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  at  lenglh,  "  concern  not  yourself 
about  such  things.  1  cannot  he  subjected  to  such  infamy, 
for  never  will  I  deserve  it  ;  and  were  I  threatened  with 
it,  I  should  know  how  to  die  before  I  was  so  far  dishon- 
oured." 

"  There  spoke  the  son  of  the  husband  of  my  heart  !' 
replied  Elspat  ;  and  she  changed  the  discourse,  and 
seemed  to  listen  in  melancholy  acquiescence,  when  hei 
son  reminded  her  how  short  the  time  was  which  they 
were  permitted  to  pass  in  each  other's  society,  and  en- 
treated that  it  might  be  spent  without  useless  and  unpleas- 
ant recollections  respecting  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  must  soon  be  separated. 

Elspat  was  now  satisfied  that  her  son,  with  some  of  his 
father's  other  properties,  preserved  the  haughty  masculine 
spirit  which  rendered  it  impossible  to  divert  him  from  a 
resolution  which  he  had  deliberately  adopted.  She  as- 
sumed, therefore,  an  exterior  of  apparent  submission  to 
their  inevitable  separation  ;  and  if  she  now  and  then 
broke  out  into  complaints  and  murmurs,  it  was  either  that 
she  could  not  altogether  suppress  the  natural  impetuosity 
of  her  temper,  or  because  she  had  the  wit  to  consider, 
that  a  total  and  unreserved  acquiescence  might  have 
seemed  to  her  son  constrained  and  suspicious,  and  induc- 
ed him  to  watch  and  defeat  the  means  by  which  she  still 
hoped  to  prevent  his  leaving  her.  Her  ardent,  though 
selfish  affection  for  her  son,  incapable  of  being  qualified 
by  a  regard  for  the  true  interests  of  the  unfortunate  ob- 
ject of  her  attachment,  resembled  the  instinctive  fond 
ness  of  the  animal  race  for  their  offspring  ;  and  diving 
little  farther  into  futurity  than  one  of  the  inferior  crea- 
tures, she  only  felt,  that  to  be  separated  from  Hamish  was 
to  die. 

In  the  brief  interval  permitted  them,  Elspat  exhausted 
every  art  which  affection  could  devise,  to  render  agreea- 
Sle  to  him  the  space  whiHi  they  were  apparently  to  spend 


THE    CANOJVGATE.  125 

with  tach  other.  Her  memory  carried  her  far  back  into 
former  days,  and  her  stores  of  legendary  history,  which 
furnish  at  all  limes  a  principal  amusement  of  the  High- 
lander in  his  moments  of  repose,  were  augmented  by  an 
unusual  acquaintance  with  the  songs  of  ancient  bards,  and 
traditions  of  the  most  approved  Seannachies  and  tellers 
of  tales.  Her  officious  attentions  to  her  son's  accommo- 
dation, indeed,  were  so  unremiited  as  almost  to  give  him 
pain  ;  and  he  endeavoured  quietly  to  prevent  her  from 
taking  so  much  personal  toil  in  selecting  the  blooming 
heath  for  his  bed,  or  preparing  the  meal  for  his  refresh- 
ment. "  Let  me  alone,  Hamish,"  she  would  reply  on 
such  occasions  ;  "  you  follow  your  own  will  in  departing 
from  your  mother,  let  your  mother  have  hers  in  doing 
what  gives  her  pleasure  while  you  remain." 

So  much  she  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to  the  arrange- 
ments which  he  had  made  in  her  behalf,  that  she  could  hear 
him  speak  to  her  of  her  removing  to  the  lands  of  Green 
Colin,  as  the  gentleman  was  called,  on  whose  estate  he 
had  provided  her  an  asylum.  In  truth,  however,  nothing 
could  be  farther  from  her  thoughts.  From  what  he  had 
said  during  their  first  violent  dispute,  Elspat  had  gather- 
ed, that  if  Harnish  returned  not  by  the  appointed  time 
permitted  by  his  furlough,  he  would  incur  the  hazard  ot 
corporal  punishment..  Were  he  placed  within  the  risk  of 
being  thus  dishonoured,  she  was  well  aware  that  he  would 
never  submit  to  the  disgrace,  by  a  return  to  the  regiment 
where  it  might  be  inflicted.  Whether  she  looked  to  any 
farther  probable  consequences  of  her  unhappy  scheme, 
cannot  be  known  ;  but  the  partner  of  MacTavish  Mhor, 
in  all  his  perils  and  wanderings,  was  familiar  with  an  hun- 
dred instances  of  resistance  or  escape,  by  which  one 
brave  man,  amidst  a  land  of  rocks,  lakes,  and  mountains, 
dangerous  passes,  and  dark  forests,  might  baffle  the  pur- 
suit of  hundreds.  For  the  future,  therefore,  she  feared 
nothing  ;  her  sole  engrossing  object  was  to  prevent  her 
son  from  keeping  his  word  with  his  commanding  officnr 

VOL.    I. 


l26  CHRONICLES    OF 

W:t.h  this  secret  purpose,  she  evaded  the  proposal 
which  Hainish  repeatedly  made,  that  they  should  set  out 
together  to  take  possession  of  her  new  ahode  ;  and  she 
resisted  it  upon  grounds  apparently  so  natural  to  her  char- 
acter, that  her  son  was  neither  alarmed  nor  displeased 
"  Let  me  not,"  she  said,  "  in  the  same  short  week,  bid 
farewell  to  my  only  son,  and  to  the  glen  in  which  I  have 
so  long  dwelt.  Let  my  eye,  when  dimmed  with  weeping 
for  thee,  still  look  around,  for  a  while  at  least,  upon  Loch 
Awe  and  on  Ben  Cruachan." 

Hamish  yielded  the  more  willingly  to  his  mother's  hu- 
mour in  this  particular,  that  one  or  two  persons  who  re- 
sided in  a  neighbouring  glen,  and  had  given  their  sons  to 
Barcaldine's  levy,  were  also  to  be  provided  for  on  the 
estate  of  the  chieftain,  and  it  was  apparently  settled  that 
Elspat  was  to  take  her  journey  along  with  them  when 
they  should  remove  to  their  new  residence.  Thus,  Ha- 
mish believed  that  he  had  at  once  indulged  his  mother's 

O 

humour,  and  insured  her  safety  and  accommodation. 
But  she  nourished  in  her  mind  very  different  thoughts 
and  projects  ! 

The  period  of  Hamish's  leave  of  absence  was  fast  ap- 
proaching, and  more  than  once  he  proposed  to  depart,  in 
such  time  as  to  insure  his  gaining  easily  and  early  Dun- 
barton,  the  town  where  were  the  head-quarters  of  his 
regiment.  But  still  his  mother's  entreaties,  his  own  nat- 
ural disposition  to  linger  among  scenes  long  dear  to  him, 
and,  above  all,  his  firm  reliance  in  his  speed  and  activity, 
induced  him  to  Kotract  his  departure  till  the  sixth  day, 
being  the  very  last  which  he  could  possibly  afford  to  spend 
with  his  mother,  if  indeed  he  meant  to  comply  with  the 
conditions  of  his  furlough. 


THE    CANOAGATE.  127 


CHAPTER  XII. 

But  for  vonr  son,  l«?lieve  it — Oh,  bf  iieve  it  — 
Most  dangerously  you  have  with  him  prevaijed, 
If  not  most  mortal  to  him. — 

Coriolanus. 

ON  the  evening  which  preceded  his  proposed  depar- 
ture, Hamish  walked  down  to  the  river  with  his  fishing- 
rod,  to  practise  in  the  Awe,  for  the  last  lime,  a  sport  in 
which  he  excelled,  and  to  find,  at  the  same  time,  the 
means  for  making  one  social  meal  with  his  mother  on 
something  belter  than  their  ordinary  cheer.  He  was  as 
successful  as  usual,  and  soon  killed  a  fine  salmon.  On 
his  return  homeward  an  incident  befell  him,  which  he 
afterwards  related  as  ominous,  though  probably  his  heat- 
ed imagination,  joined  to  the  universal  turn  of  his  coun- 
trymen for  the  marvellous,  exaggerated  into  superstitious 
importance  some  very  ordinary  and  accidental  circum- 
stance. 

In  the  path  which  he  pursued  homeward,  he  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  a  person,  who,  like  himself,  was  dress- 
ed and  armed  after  the  old  Highland  fashion.  The  first 
idea  that  struck  him  was,  that  the  passenger  belonged  to 
his  own  corps,  who,  levied  by  government,  and  bearing  arms 
under  royal  authority,  were  not  amenable  for  breach  of  the 
statutes  against  the  use  of  the  Highland  garb  or  weapons. 
But  he  was  struck  on  perceiving,  as  he  mended  his  pace 
to  make  up  to  his  supposed  comrade,  meaning  to  request 
his  company  for  the  next  day's  journey,  that  the  stranger 
wore  a  white  cockade,  the  fatal  badge  which  was  proscrib- 
ed in  the  Highlands.  The  stature  of  the  man  was  tall, 
and  there  was  something  shadowy  in  the  outline,  which 
added  to  his  size  ;  and  his  mode  of  motion,  which  rather 
resembled  gliding  than  walking,  impressed  Hamish  with 
su  )erstitious  fears  concerning  the  charactei  of  the  being 


128 


CItUOMCLKS    OK 


which  thus  passed  before  him  in  the  twilight.  He  nc 
longer  strove  to  make  up  to  the  stranger,  but  contented 
himself  with  keeping  him  in  view,  under  the  superstition 
common  to  the  Highlanders,  that  you  ought  neither  to  in- 
trude yourself  on  such  supernatural  apparitions  as  you 
may  witness,  nor  avoid  their  presence,  but  leave  it  tc 
themselves  to  withhold  or  extend  their  communication,  as 
their  power  may  permit,  or  the  purpose  of  their  commis- 
sion require. 

Upon  an  elevated  knoll  by  the  side  of  the  road,  just 
where  the  pathway  turned  down  to  Elspat's  hut,  the 
stranger  made  a  pause,  and  seemed  to  await  Hamish's 
coming  up.  Hamish,  on  his  part,  seeing  it  was  necessa- 
ry he  should  pass  the  object  of  his  suspicion,  mustered 
up  his  courage,  and  approached  the  spot  where  the  stran- 
ger had  placed  himself;  who  first  pointed  to  Elspat's  hut, 
and  made,  with  arm  and  head,  a  gesture  prohibiting  Ha- 
mi&h  to  approach  it,  then  stretched  his  hand  to  the  road 
which  led  to  the  southward,  with  a  motion  which  seemed 
to  enjoin  his  instant  departure  in  that  direction.  In  a 
moment  afterwards  the  plaided  form  was  gone — Hamish 
did  not  exactly  say  vanished,  because  there  were  rocks 
and  stunted  trees  enough  to  have  concealed  him  ;  but  it 
was  his  own  opinion  that  he  had  seen  the  spirit  of  Mac- 
Tavish  Mhor,  warning  him  to  commence  his  instant  jour- 
ney to  Dunbarton,  without  waiting  till  morning,  or  again 
visiting  his  mother's  hut. 

In  fact,  so  many  accidents  might  arise  to  delay  his 
journey,  especially  where  there  were  many  ferries,  that  it 
became  his  settled  purpose,  though  he  could  not  depart 
without  bidding  his  mother  adieu,  that  he  neither  could 
nor  would  abide  longer  than  for  that  object ;  and  that  the 
first  glimpse  of  next  day's  sun  should  see  him  many  miles 
advanced  towards  Dunbarton.  He  descended  the  path, 
therefore,  and  entering  the  cottage,  he  communicated,  in 
a  hasty  and  troubled  voice,  which  indicated  mental  agita- 
tion, his  determination  to  take  his  instant  departure 
Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  Elspat  appeared  not  to  combat 
his  pt  rpose,  but  she  urged  him  to  take  some  refreshment 


THE    CAJfOJfGATE.  129 

ere  ne  left  her  for  ever.     He  did  so  hastily,  and  in  silence 
thinking  on  the  approaching  separation,  and  scarce  yet 
believing  it  would  take  place  without  a  final  struggle  with 
his  mother's  fondness.       To  his  surprise,  she  filled  the 
quaigh  with  liquor  for  his  parting  cup. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "  my  son,  since  such  is  thy  settled 
purpose  ;  but  first  stand  once  more  on  thy  mother's 
hearth,  the  flame  on  which  will  be  extinguished  long  eie 
thy  foot  shall  again  be  placed  there." 

"  To  your  health,  mother  !"  said  Hamish,  "  and  may 
we  meet  again  in  happiness,  in  spite  of  your  ominous 
words." 

"  It  were  better  not  to  part,"  said  his  mother,  watch- 
ing him  as  he  quaffed  the  liquor,  of  which  he  would  have 
held  it  ominous  to  have  left  a  drop. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  muttering  the  words  to  herself, 
"  go — if  thou  canst  go." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  as  he  replaced  on  the  table 
the  empty  quaigh,  "  thy  drink  is  pleasant  to  the  taste,  but 
it  takes  away  the  strength  which  it  ought  to  give." 

"  Such  is  its  first  effect,  my  son,"  replied  Elspat  ; 
'  but  lie  down  upon  that  soft  heather  couch,  shut  your 
eyes  but  for  a  moment,  and,  in  the  sleep  of  an  hour,  you 
shall  have  more  refreshment  than  in  the  ordinary  repose 
of  three  whole  nights,  could  they  be  blended  into  one." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  upon  whose  brain  the  potion 
was  now  taking  rapid  effect,  "  give  me  my  bonnet — I 
must  kiss  you  and  begone — yet  it  seems  as  if  my  feet 
were  nailed  to  the  floor." 

"  Indeed,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  will  be  instantly 
well,  if  you  will  sit  down  for  half  an  hour — but  half  an 
hour  ;  it  is  eight  hours  to  dawn,  and  dawn  were  time 
enough  for  your  father's  son  to  begin  such  a  journey.'* 

"  I  must  obey  you,  mother — I  feel  I  must,"  said  Ha 
inish,  inarticulately  ;  "  but  call  me  when  the  moon  rises." 

He  sat  down  on  the   bed — reclined   back,  and   almost 

instantly  was  fast  asleep.     With  the  throbbing  glee  of  one 

who  has  brought  to  an  end  a  difficult  and  troublesome  en- 

»orprize    Elspat  proceeded  tenderly  to  arrange  the  plaid 

532 


130  CHUONICLES    OF 

of  the  unconscious  slumborer,  to  whom  her  extrava 
gam  affection  was  doomed  to  be  so  fatal,  expressing;, 
while  busied  in  her  office,  her  delight,  in  tones  of  min 
gled  tenderness  and  triumph.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  cal 
of  my  heart,  the  moon  shall  arise  and  set  to  thee,  and  so 
shall  the  sun  ;  but  not  to  light  thee  from  the  land  of  thy 
fathers,  or  tempt  thee  to  serve  the  foreign  prince  or  the 
feudal  enemy  !  To  no  son  of  Dertnid  shall  1  be  delivered, 
to  be  fed  like  a  bondswoman  ;  but  he  who  is  my  pleas- 
ure and  my  pride  shall  be  my  guard  and  my  protector. 
They  say  the  Highlands  are  changed  ;  but  I  see  Ben 
Cruachan  rear  his  crest  as  high  as  ever  into  the  evening 
sky — no  one  hath  yet  herded  his  kine  on  the  depth  ot 
Lochavve — and  yonder  oak  does  not  yet  bend  like  a  wil- 
low. The  children  of  the  mountains  will  be  such  as  their 
fathers,  until  the  mountains  themselves  shall  be  levelled 
with  the  strath.  In  these  wild  forests,  which  used  to 
support  thousands  of  the  brave,  there  is  still  surely  sub- 
sistence and  refuge  left  for  one  aged  woman,  and  one 
gallant  youth,  of  the  ancient  race  and  the  ancient  man- 
ners." 

While  the  misjudging  mother  thus  exulted  in  the  suc- 
cess of  her  stratagem,  we  may  mention  to  the  reader, 
that  it  was  founded  on  the  acquaintance  with  drugs  and 
simples,  which  Elspat,  accomplished  in  all  things  belong- 
ing to  the  wild  life  which  she  had  led,  possessed  in  an  un- 
common degree,  and  which  she  exercised  for  various  pur- 
poses. With  the  herbs,  which  she  knew  how  to  select  as 
well  as  how  to  distil,  she  could  relieve  more  diseases 
than  a  regular  medical  person  could  easily  believe.  She 
applied  some  to  dye  the  bright  coiours  of  the  tartan-  — 
from  othe:s  she  compounded  draughts  of  various  poweis, 
and  unhappily  possessed  the  secret  of  one  which  was 
strongly  soporific.  Upon  the  effects  of  this  last  concoc- 
tion, as  the  reader  doubtless  has  anticipated,  she  reckon- 
ed with  security  on  delaying  Hamish  beyond  the  period 
for  which  his  return  was  appointed  ;  and  she  trusted  to 
hi's  horror  for  the  apprehended  punishment  to  which  he 


THE    CAJVONGATE.  131 

was  thus  rendered  liable,  to  prevent  him  from  it-turning 
at  all. 

Sound  and  deep,  beyond  natural  rest,  was  the  sleep  o 
Hamish  MacTavish  on  that  eventful  evening,  but  not  such 
the  repose  of  his  mother.  Scarce  did  she  close  her  eyes 
from  time  to  time,  but  she  awakened  again  with  a  start, 
in  the  terror  that  her  son  had  arisen  and  departed  ;  and 
it  was  only  on  approaching  his  couch,  and  hearing  his 
deep-drawn  and  regular  breathing,  that  she  reassured 
herself  of  the  security  of  the  repose  in  which  he  was 
plunged. 

Still,  dawning,  she  feared,  might  awaken  him,  notwith- 
standing the  unusual  strength  of  the  potion  with  which  she 
had  drugged  his  cup.  If  there  remained  a  hope  of  mor- 
tal man  accomplishing  the  journey,  she  was  aware  that 
Hamish  would  attempt  it,  though  he  were  to  die  from 
fatigue  upon  the  road.  Animated  by  this  new  fear,  she 
studied  to  exclude  the  light,  by  stopping  all  the  crannies 
and  crevices  through  which,  rather  than  through  any  reg- 
ular entrance,  the  morning  beams  might  find  access  to 
her  miserable  dwelling  ;  and  this  in  order  to  detain  amid 
its  wants  and  wretchedness  the  being,  on  whom,  if  the 
world  itself  had  been  at  her  disposal,  she  would  have 
joyfully  conferred  it. 

Her  pains  xvere  bestowed  unnecessarily.  The  sun  rose 
high  above  the  heavens,  and  not  the  fleetest  stag  in  Bread- 
albane,  were  the  hounds  at  his  heels,  could  have  sped,  to 
save  his  life,  so  fast  as  would  have  been  necessary  to 
keep  Hamish's  appointment.  Her  purpose  was  fully  at- 
tained— her  son's  return  within  the  period  assigned  was 
impossible.  She  deemed  it  equally  impossible,  that  he 
would  ever  dream  of  returning,  standing,  as  he  must  now 
dc,  in  the  danger  of  an  infamous  punishment.  By  de- 
gre??,  and  at  different  times,  she  had  gained  from  him  a 
full  acquaintance  with  the  predicament  in  which  he  would 
be  ptoced  by  failing  to  appear  on  the  day  appointed,  and 
the  very  small  hope  he  could  entertain  of  being  treated 
with  lenit) 


132  CHRONICLES    OF 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  great  and  wise  Earl  of  Chat 
ham  prided  himself  on  the  scheme,  by  which  he  drew  to- 
getherforthedefenceofthecolonies  those  hardy  Highland- 
ers, who,  until  his  time,  had  been  the  objects  of  doubt, 
fear,  and  suspicion,  on  the  part  of  each  successive  admin- 
istration. But  some  obstacles  occurred,  from  the  peculiar 
habits  and  temper  of  this  people,  to  the  execution  of  his 
patriotic  project.  By  nature  and  habit,  every  Highlander 
was  accustomed  to  the  use  of  arms,  but  at  the  same  time 
totally  unaccustomed  to,  and  impatient  of,  the  restraints 
imposed  by  discipline  upon  regular  troops.  They  were  a 
species  of  militia,  who  had  no  conception  of  a  camp  as 
their  only  home.  If  a  battle  was  lost,  they  dispersed  to 
save  themselves,  and  look  out  for  the  safety  of  their  fam- 
ilies ;  if  won,  they  went  back  to  their  glens  to  hoard  up 
their  booty,  and  attend  to  their  cattle  and  their  farms. 
This  privilege  of  going  and  coming  at  pleasure,  they 
would  not  be  deprived  of  even  by  their  Chiefs,  whose  au- 
.hority  was  in  most  other  respects  so  despotic.  It  follow- 
ed as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  new-levied  Highland 
recruits  could  scarce  be  made  to  comprehend  the  nature  of 
a  military  engagement,  which  compelled  a  man  to  serve 
in  the  army  longer  than  he  pleased  ;  and  perhaps,  in 
many  instances  sufficient  care  was  not  taken  at  enlisting  to 
explain  to  them  the  permanency  of  the  engagement  which 
they  came  under,  lest  such  a  disclosure  should  induce 
them  to  change  their  mind.  Desertions  were  therefore 
become  numerous  from  the  newly-raised  regiment,  and 
the  veteran  General  who  commanded  at  Dunbarton,  saw 
no  better  way  of  checking  them  than  by  causing  an  unu- 
sually severe  example  to  be  made  of  a  deserter  from  an 
English  corps.  The  young  Highland  regiment  was  oblig- 
ed to  attend  upon  the  punishment,  which  struck  a  people, 
peculiarly  jealous  of  personal  honour,  with  equal  horror 
and  disgust,  and  not  unnaturally  indisposed  some  of  them 
to  the  service.  The  old  General,  however,  who  had  been 
regularly  bred  in  the  German  wars,  stuck  to  his  own  opin- 
ion, and  gave  out  in  orders  that  the  first  Highlander  who 
might  either  desert,  or  fail  to  appear  at  the  expiry  of  his 


THE    CANDIDATE.  133 

furlough,  should  be  brought  to  the  halberts,  and  punished 
like  the  culprit  whom  they  had  seen  in  that  condition. 

No  man  doubted   that  General would  keep  his 

word  rigorously  whenever  severity  was  required,  and 
Elspat,  therefore,  knew  that  her  son,  when  he  perceived 
that  due  compliance  with  his  orders  was  impossible,  must 
at  the  same  time  consider  the  degrading  punishment  de- 
nounced against  his  defection  as  inevitable,  should  he  place 
himself  within  the  General's  power.30 

When  noon  was  well  passed,  new  apprehensions  came 
on  the  mind  of  the  lonely  woman.  Her  son  still  slept 
under  the  influence  of  the  draught  ;  but  what  if,  being 
stronger  than  she  had  ever  known  it  administered,  his 
health  or  his  reason  should  be  affected  by  its  potency  ? 
For  the  first  time,  likewise,  notwithstanding  her  high  ideas 
on  the  subject  of  parental  authority,  she  began  to  dread 
the  resentment  of  her  son,  whom  her  heart  told  her  she 
had  wronged.  Of  late,  she  had  observed  that  his  temper 
was  less  docile,  and  his  determinations,  especially  upon 
this  late  occasion  of  his  enlistment,  independently  formed 
and  then  boldly  carried  through.  She  remembered  the 
the  stern  wilfulness  of  his  father  when  he  accounted  him- 
self ill-used,  and  began  to  dread  that  Hamish,  upon  find- 
ing the  deceit  she  had  put  upon  him,  might  resent  it  even 
to  the  extent  of  casting  her  off,  and  pursuing  his  own 
course  through  the  world  alone.  Such  were  the  alarming. 

C?  O 

and  yet  the  reasonable  apprehensions  which  began  to 
crowd  upon  the  unfortunate  woman,  after  the  apparent 
success  of  her  ill-advised  stratagem. 

It  was  near  evening  when  Hamish  first  awoke,  and  then 
he  was  far  from  being  in  the  full  possession  either  of  his 
mental  or  bodily  powers.  From  his  vague  expressions 
»md  disordered  pulse,  Elspat  at  first  experienced  much 
apprehension  ;  but  she  used  such  expedients  as  her  med- 
ical knowledge  suggested  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  night, 
the  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  him  sink  once  more  into  a 
deep  sleep,  which  probably  carried  off  the  greater  part  oi 
the  effects  of  the  drug,  for  about  sunrising  she  heard  him 

VOL.    I 


134  CHRONICLES    OF 

arise,  and  call  to  her  for  his  bonnet.  Thfs  she  had  pur- 
posely removed,  from  a  fear  that  he  might  awaken  and 
depart  in  the  night-tirne,  without  her  knowledge. 

"  My  bonnet — my  bonnet,"  cried  Hamish,  "  it  is  time 
to  take  farewell.  Mother,  your  drink  was  too  strong — 
the  sun  is  up — but  with  the  next  morning  t  will  still  see 
the  double  summit  of  the  ancient  Dun.  My  bonnet — my 
bonnet  !  mother,  I  must  be  instant  in  my  departure." 
These  expressions  made  it  plain  that  poor  Hamish  was 
unconscious  that  two  nights  and  a  day  had  passed  since 
he  had  drained  the  fatal  quaigh,  and  Elspat  had  now  to 
venture  on  what  she  felt  as  the  almost  perilous,  as  well  as 
painful  task,  of  explaining  her  machinations. 

"  Forgive  me,  rny  son,"  she  said,  approaching  Hamish, 
and  taking  him  by  the  hand  with  an  air  of  deferential 
awe,  which  perhaps  she  had  not  always  used  to  his  father, 
even  when  in  his  moody  fits. 

"  Forgive  you,  mother — for  what  *?"  said  Hamish, 
laughing  ;  "for  giving  me  a  dram  that  was  too  strong,  and 
which,  my  head  still  feels  this  morning,  or  for  hiding  my 
bonnet  to  keep  me  an  instant  longer  9  Nay,  do  you  for- 
give me.  Give  rne  the  bonnet,  and  let  that  be  done  which 
now  must  be  done.  Give  me  my  bonnet,  or  I  go  without 
it  ;  surely  I  am  not  to  be  delayed  by  so  trifling  a  want  as 
that — 1,  who  have  gone  for  years  with  only  a  sirap  of 
deer's  hide  to  tie  back  rny  hair.  Trifle  not,  but  give  it 
me,  or  I  must  go  bareheaded,  since  to  stay  is  impos- 
sible." 

"  My  son,"  said  Elspat,  keeping  fast  hold  of  his  hand, 
"  what  is  done  cannot  be  recalled  ;  could  you  borrow  the 
wings  of  yonder  eagle,  you  would  arrive  at  the  Dun  too 
late  for  what  you  purpose, — too  soon  for  what  awaits  you 
there.  You  believe  you  see  me  sun  rising  for  the  first 
lime  since  you  have  seen  him  set,  but  yesterday  beheld 
him  climb  Ben  Cruachan,  though  your  eyes  were  closed 
to  his  light." 

Hamish  cast  upon  his  mother  a  wild  glance  of  extreme 
terror,  then  instantly  recovering  himself,  said — "  I  am  no 
child  to  be  cheated  out  of  my  purpose  by  such  tricks  as 


TrtE    CANONGATE.  135 

these — Farewell,  mother,  each   moment  is  worth  a  life 
time." 

"  Stay,"  she  said,  "  my  dear — my  deceived  son  !  rush 
not  on  infamy  and  ruin — Yonder  I  see  the  priest  upon  the 
high-road  on  his  white  horse — ask  him  the  day  of  the 
month  and  week — let  him  decide  between  us." 

With  the  speed  of  an  eagle,  Hamish  darted  up  the  ac- 
clivity, and  stood  by  the  minister  of  Glenorquhy,  who 
was  pacing  out  thus  early  to  administer  consolation  to  a 
distressed  family  near  Bunawe. 

The  good   man    was  somewhat  startled   to  behold  an 
armed  Highlander,  then  so  unusual  a  sight,  and  apparently 
much  agitated,  stop  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  ask  him 
with  a  faltering  voice  the  day  of  the  week   and  month 
"  Had  you  been  where  you  should  have  been  yesterday, 
young  man,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  you  would  have 
known  that  it  was  God's  Sabbath  ;  and  that  this  is  M: 
day,  the  second  day  of  the  week,  and  twenty-first  of  the 
month." 

"  And  this  is  true  9"  said  Hamish. 

"  As  true,"  answered  the  surprised  minister,  "  as  that 
I  yesterday  preached  the  word  of  God  to  this  parish. — 
What  ails  you,  young  man  9 — are  you  sick  9 — are  you 
in  your  right  mind  9" 

Hamish  made  no  answer,  only  repeated  to  himself  the 
first  expression  of  the  clergyman — "  Had  you  been  where 
you  should  have  been  yesterday  ;"  and  so  saying,  he  let 
go  the  bridle,  turned  from  the  road,  and  descended  the 
path  towards  the  hut,  with  the  look  and  pace  of  one  who 
was  going  to  execution.  The  minister  looked  after  him 
with  sui  prise  ;  but  although  he  knew  the  inhabitant  of 
the  hovel,  the  character  of  Elspat  had  not  invited  him  to 
open  any  communication  with  her,  because  she  was  gen- 
erally reputed  a  Papist,  or  rather  one  indifferent  to  all 
religion,  except  some  superstitious  observances  which  had 
been  handed  down  from  her  parents.  On  Hamish  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Tyrie  had  bestowed  instructions  when  he 
was  occasionally  thrown  in  his  way,  and  if  the  seed  fel 
among  the  brambles  and  thorns  of  a  wild  and  uncultivat- 


1 36  CHRONICLES    OF 

ed  disposition,  it  had  not  yet  been  entirely  checked  01 
destroyed.  There  was  something  so  ghastly  in  the  pres- 
ent expression  of  the  youth's  features,  that  the  good  man 
was  tempted  to  go  down  to  the  hovel,  and  inquire  whether 
any  distress  had  befallen  the  inhabitants,  in  which  his 
presence  might  be  consoling,  and  his  ministry  useful. 
Unhappily  he  did  not  persevere  in  u^s  resolution,  which 
might  have  saved  a  great  misfortune,  as  he  would  have 
probably  become  a  mediator  for  the  unfortunate  young 
man  ;  but  recollection  of  the  wild  moods  of  such  High- 
landers as  had  been  educated  after  the  old  fashion  of  the 
country,  prevented  his  interesting  himself  in  the  widow 
and  son  of  the  far-dreaded  robber  MacTavish  Mhor  ; 
and  he  thus  missed  an  opportunity,  which  he  afterwards 
sorely  repented,  of  doing  much  good. 

When  Hamish  MacTavish  entered  his  mother's  hut,  it 
was  only  to  throw  himself  on  the  bed  he  had  left,  and 
exclaiming,  "  Undone,  undone  !"  to  give  vent,  in  cries 
of  grief  and  anger,  to  his  deep  sense  of  the  deceit  which 
had  been  practised  on  him,  and  of  the  cruel  predicament 
to  which  he  was  reduced. 

Elspat  was  prepared  for  the  first  explosion  of  her  son's 
passion,  and  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  but  the  mountain  tor- 
rent, swelled  by  the  thunder  shower.  Let  us  sit  and  rest 
us  by  the  bank  ;  for  all  its  present  tumult,  the  time  will 
soon  come  when  we  may  pass  it  dry-shod."  She  suffer- 
ed his  complaints  and  his  reproaches,  which  were,  even 
in  the  midst  of  his  agony,  respectful  and  affectionate,  to 
die  away  without  returning  any  answer  ;  and  when,  at 
length,  having  exhausted  all  the  exclamations  of  sorrow 
which  his  language,  copious  in  expressing  the  feelings  01 
the  heart,  affords  to  the  sufferer,  he  sunk  into  a  gloomy 
silence,  she  suffered  the  interval  to  continue  near  an  hour 
ere  she  approached  her  son's  couch. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  at  length,  with  a  voice  in  which 
the  authority  of  the  mother  was  qualified  by  her  tender- 
ness, "  have  you  exhausted  your  idle  sorrows,  and  are 
you  able  to  place  what  you  have  gained  against  what  you 
have  lost  ?  Is  the  false  son  of  Dermid  your  brother,  01 


THE    CANONGATE  137 

the  father  of  your  tribb,  that  you  weep  because  you  can- 
not bind  yourself  to  Irs  belt,  and  become  one  of  those 
who  must  do  his  bidding  9  Could  you  find  in  yonder  dis- 
tant country  the  lakes  and  the  mountains  that  you  leave 
behind  you  here  ?  Can  you  hunt  the  deer  of  Breadalbane 
in  the  forests  of  America,  or  will  the  ocean  afford  you  the 
silver-scaled  salmon  of  the  Awe  9  Consider,  then,  what 
is  your  loss,  and,  like  a  wise  man,  set  it  against  what  you 
have  won." 

"  I  have  lost  all,  mother,"  replied  Hamish,  "  since  I 
have  broken  my  word,  and  lost  my  honour.  I  might  tell 
my  tale,  but  who,  oh,  who  would  believe  me  *?"  The 
unfortunate  young  man  again  clasped  his  hands  together, 
and,  pressing  them  to  his  forehead,  hid  his  face  upon 
the  bed. 

Elspat  was  now  really  alarmed,  and  perhaps  wished 
the  fatal  deceit  had  been  left  unattempted.  She  had  no 
hope  or  refuge  saving  in  the  eloquence  of  persuasion,  of 
which  she  possessed  no  small  share,  though  her  total  ig- 
norance of  the  world  as  it  actually  existed,  rendered  its 
energy  unavailing.  She  urged  her  son,  by  every  tender 
epithet  which  a  parent  could  bestow,  to  take  care  for  his 
own  safety. 

"  Leave  me,"  she  said,  "  to  baffle  your  pursuers.  I 
will  save  your  life — I  will  save  your  honour — I  will  tell 
them  that  my  fair-haired  Hamish  fell  from  the  Corrie  dhu 
(black  precipice)  into  the  gulf,  of  which  human  eye  never 
beheld  the  bottom.  1  will  tell  them  this,  and  I  will  rling 
your  plaid  on  the  thorns  which  grow  on  the  brink  of  the 
precipice,  that  they  may  believe  my  words.  They  will 
believe,  and  they  will  return  to  the  Dun  of  the  double- 
crest  ;  for  though  the  Saxon  drum  can  call  the  living  to  die, 
it  cannot  recall  the  dead  to  their  slavish  standard.  Then 
will  we  travel  together  far  northward  to  the  salt  lakes  of 
Kintail,  and  place  glens  and  mountains  betwixt  us  and 
the  sons  of  Dermid.  We  will  visit  the  shores  of  the  dark 
lake,  and  my  kinsmen — (for  was  not  my  mother  of  the 
children  of  Kenneth,  and  will  they  no  remember  us  with 
8  VOL.  i. 


138  CHRONICLES    OI 

the  old  love  *?) — my  kinsmen  will  receive  us  with  the  af- 
fection of  the  olden  time,  which  lives  in  those  dislan 
glens,  where  the  Gael  still  dwell  in  their  nobleness,  un- 
mingled  with  the  churl  Saxons,  or  with  the  base  brood 
that  are  their  tools  and  their  slaves." 

The  energy  of  the  language,  somewhat  allied  to  hyrer 
bole,  even  in  its  most  ordinary  expressions,  now  seemed 
almost  too  weak  to  afford  Elspat  the  means  of  bringing 
out  the  splendid  picture  which  she  presented  to  her  son 
of  the  land  in  which  she  proposed  to  him  to  take  refuge. 
Yet  the  colours  were  few  with  which  she  could  paint  her 
Highland  paradise.  "  The  hills,"  she  said,  "  were  higher 
arid  more  magnificent  than  those  of  Breadalbane — Ben- 
Cruachan  was  but  a  dwarf  to  Skooroora.  The  lakes 
were  broader  and  larger,  and  abounded  not  only  with  fish, 
but  with  the  enchanted  and  amphibious  animal  which 
gives  oil  to  the  lamp.*  The  deer  were  larger  and  more 
numerous — the  white-tusked  boar,  the  chase  of  which  the 
brave  loved  best,  was  yet  to  be  roused  in  these  western 
solitudes — the  men  were  nobler,  wiser,  and  stronger,  than 
the  degenerate  brood  who  lived  under  the  Saxon  banner. 
The  daughters  of  the  land  were  beautiful,  with  blue  eyes 
and  fair  hair,  and  bosoms  of  snow,  and  out  of  those  she 
would  choose  a  wife  for  Hamish,  of  blameless  descent, 
spotless  fame,  fixed  and  true  affection,  who  should  be  in 
their  summer  bothy  as  a  beam  of  the  sun,  and  in  their 
winter  abode  as  the  warmth  of  the  needful  fire." 

Such  were  the  topics  with  which  Elspat  strove  to 
soothe  the  despair  of  her  son,  and  to  determine  him,  il 
possible,  to  leave  the  fatal  spot,  on  which  he  seemed  re- 
solved to  linger.  The  style  of  her  rhetoric  was  poetical, 
but  in  other  respects  resembled  that  which,  like  other  fond 
mothers,  she  had  lavished  on  Hamish,  while  a  child  or  a 
boy,  in  order  to  gain  his  consent  to  do  something  he  had 
no  mind  to  ;  and  she  spoke  louder,  quicker,  and  more 
earnestly,  in  proportion  as  she  began  to  despair  of  he 
words  carrying  conviction. 

*  The  seals  are  considered  by  the  Highlanders  as  enchanted  princf 


THE    CAVONGVTB.  139 

On  the  mind  of  Hamish    her  eloquence  made  no  im- 
pression.    He  knew  far  better  than  she  did  the  actua 
situation  of  the  country,  and  was  sensible,  that,  though  ii 
might  be  possible  to  hide  himself  as  a  fugitive  among  more 
distant  mountains,  there  was  now  no  corner  in  the  High 
ands  in  which  his  father's  profession  could  be  practised 
even  if  he  had  not  adopted,  from  the  improved  ideas  o 
the  time  when  he  lived,  the  opinion  that  the  trade  of  the 
cateran  was  no  longer  the  road  to  honour  and  distinction. 
Her  words  were   therefore  poured  into  regardless  ear?, 
and  she  exhausted  herself  in  vain  in  the  attempt  to  paint 
the  regions  of  her  mother's   kinsmen   in    such  terms   as 
might  tempt  Hamish  to  accompany   her  thither.     She 
spoke  for  hours,  but  she  spoke  in  vain.     She  could  extort 
no  answer,  save  groans,  and  sighs,  and   ejaculations,  ex- 
pressing the  extremity  of  despair. 

At  length,  starting  on  her  feet,  and  changing  the  mo- 
notonous tone  in  which  she  had  chanted,  as  it  were,  the 
praises  of  the  province  of  refuge,  into  the  short,  stern 
language  of  eager  passion — "  I  am  a  fool,"  she  said,  "  to 
spend  my  words  upon  an  idle,  poor-spirited  unintelligent 
boy,  who  crouches  like  a  hound  to  the  lash.  Wait  here, 
and  receive  your  task-masters,  and  abide  your  chastise- 
ment at  their  hands  ;  but  do  not  think  your  mother's  eyes 
will  behold  it.  I  could  not  see  it  and  live.  My  eyes 
have  looked  often  upon  death,  but  never  upon  dishonour. 
Farewell,  Hamish  ! — We  never  meet  again." 

She  dashed  from  the  hut  like  a  lapwing,  and  perhaps 
for  the  moment  actually  entertained  the  purpose  which 
she  expressed,  of  parting  with  her  son  for  ever.  A 
fearful  sight  she  would  have  been  that  evening  to  any  who 
might  have  met  her  wandering  through  the  wilderness  like 
a  restless  spirit,  and  speaking  to  herself  in  language  which 
will  endure  no  translation.  She  rambled  for  hours,  seek- 
ing rather  than  shunning  the  most  dangerous  paths.  The 
precarious  track  through  the  morass,  the  dizzy  path  along 
ihe  edge  of  the  precipice,  or  by  the  banks  of  the  gulfing 
river,  were  the  roads  which,  far  from  avoiding;,  she  snngbi 
vith  eagerness,  and  traversed  with  reckless  haste  Bu'. 


140  CHRONICLES    OF 

the  cou'age  arising  from  despair  was  the  means  of  saving 
the  life,  which,  (though  deliberate  suicide  was  rarely 
practised  in  the  Highlands,)  she  was  perhaps  desirous  01 
terminating.  Her  step  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice  was 
firm  as  that  of  the  wild  goat.  Her  eye,  in  that  state  ol 
excitation,  was  so  keen  as  to  discern,  even  amid  darkness, 
the  perils  which  noon  would  not  have  enabled  a  stranger 
to  avoid. 

Elspat's  course  was  not  directly  forward,  else  she  had 
soon  been  far  from  the  bothy  in  which  she  had  left  her 
son.  It  was  circuitous,  for  that  hut  was  the  centre  to 
which  her  heart-strings  were  chained,  and  though  she 
wandered  around  it,  she  felt  it  impossible  to  leave  the  vi- 
cinity. With  the  first  beams  of  morning,  she  returned  to 
the  hut.  Awhile  she  paused  at  the  wattled  door,  as  if 
ashamed  that  lingering  fondness  should  have  brought  her 
back  to  the  spot  which  she  had  left  with  the  purpose  of 
never  returning  ;  but  there  was  yet  more  of  fear  and  anx- 
iety in  her  hesitation — of  anxiety,  lest  her  fair-haired  son 
had  suffered  from  the  effects  of  her  potion — of  fear,  lest 
his  enemies  had  come  upon  him  in  the  night.  She  open- 
?.d  the  door  of  the  hut  gently,  and  entered  with  noiseless 
step.  Exhausted  with  his  sorrow  and  anxiety,  and  no( 
entirely  relieved  perhaps  from  the  influence  of  the  power- 
ful opiate,  Hamish  Bean  again  slept  the  stern  sound  sleep 
by  which  the  Indians  are  said  to  be  overcome  during  the 
interval  of  their  torments.  His  mother  was  scarcely  sure 
lhat  she  actually  discerned  his  form  on  the  bed,  scarce 
certain  that  her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  his  breathing. 
With  a  throbbing  heart,  Elspat  went  to  the  fire-place  in 
the  centre  of  the  hut,  where  slumbered,  covered  with  a 
piece  of  turf,  the  glimmering  embers  of  the  fire,  never  ex- 
tinguished on  a  Scottish  hearth  until  the  indwellers  leave 
the  mansion  for  ever. 

"  Feeble  greishogh,"*  she  said,  as  she  lighted,  by  th«5 
help  of  a  match,  a  splinter  of  bog  pine  which  was  to  serve 
the  place  of  a  candle  ;  "  weak  greishogh,  soon  shall 


Greishogh,  a  glowing  ember- 


THE    CANONGATE.  141 

.hou  be  put  out  for  ever,  and  may  Heaven  grant  that  the 
life  of  Elspat  MacTavish  have  no  longer  duration  than 
thine  !" 

While  she  spoke  she  raised  the  blazing  light  towards 
the  bed,  on  which  still  lay  the  prostrate  limhs  of  her  son, 
in  a  posture  that  left  it  doubtful  whether  he  slept  or  swoon- 
ed. As  she  advanced  towards  him,  the  light  flashed  upon 
his  eyes — he  started  up  in  an  instant,  made  a  stride  for- 
ward with  his  naked  dirk  in  his  hand,  like  a  man  armed 
to  meet  a  mortal  enemy,  and  exclaimed,  "  Stand  off ! 
— on  thy  life,  stand  off  !" 

"  It  is  the  word  and  the  action  of  my  husband,"  an- 
swered Elspat ;  "  and  I  know  by  his  speech  and  his  step 
the  son  of  MacTavish  Mhor." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  relapsing  from  his  tone  01' 
desperate  firmness  into  one  of  melancholy  expostulation  , 
"  oh,  dearest  mother,  wherefore  have  you  returned 
hither  •?" 

"  Ask  why  the  hind  comes  back  to  the  fawn,"  said 
Elspat ;  "  why  the  cat  of  the  mountain  returns  to  her 
lodge  and  her  young.  Know  you,  Hamish,  that  the  heart 
of  the  mother  only  lives  in  the  bosom  of  the  child." 

"  Then  will  it  soon  cease  to  throb,"  said  Hamish, 
"  unless  it  can  beat  within  a  bosom  that  lies  beneath  the 
turf. — Mother,  do  not  blame  me  ;  if  I  weep,  it  is  not  foi 
myself  but  for  you,  for  my  sufferings  will  soon  be  over  ; 

but  yours O,  who  but  Heaven  shall  set  a  boundary 

to  them  !" 

Elspat  shuddered  and  stepped  backward,  but  almost 
instantly  resumed  her  firm  and  upright  position,  and  her 
dauntless  bearing. 

"  I  thought  thou  wert  a  man  but  even  now,"  she  said, 
"  and  thou  art  again  a  child.  Hearken  to  me  yet,  and 
let  is  leave  this  place  together.  Have  I  done  thee  wrong 
or  injury  9  if  so,  yet  do  not  avenge  it  so  cruelly — See, 
Elspat  MacTavish,  who  never  kneeled  before  e\en  to  a 
Driest,  falls  prostrate  before  her  own  son,  and  ciaves  his 
forgiveness."  And  at  once  she  threw  hersoK  on  her 
knees  belbro  the  young  man  seized  on  his  hand,  and 


142  CHRONICLES    OF 

kissing  it  an  hundred  times,  repeated  as  often  in  heart- 
breaking accents,  the  most  earnest  entreaties  for  forgive- 
ness. "  Pardon,"  she  exclaimed,  "  pardon,  for  the  sake 
of  your  father's  ashes — pardon  for  the  sake  of  the  pain 
with  which  I  bore  thee,  the  care  with  which  I  nurtured 
thee  ! — Hear  it,  Heaven,  and  behold  it  Earth — the  moth- 
er asks  pardon  of  her  child,  and  she  is  refused!" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Hamish  endeavoured  to  stem  this 
tide  of  passion,  by  assuring  his  mother,  with  the  most  sol- 
emn asseverations,  that  he  forgave  entirely  the  fatal  de- 
ceit which  she  had  practised  upon  him. 

"  Empty  words,"  she  said  ;  "  idle  protestations,  which 
are  but  used  to  hide  the  obduracy  of  your  resentment. 
Would  you  have  me  believe  you,  then  leave  the  hut  this 
instant,  and  retire  from  a  country  which  every  hour  ren- 
ders more  dangerous. — Do  this,  and  I  may  think  you  have 
forgiven  me — refuse  it,  and  again  I  call  on  moon  and  stars, 
heaven  and  earth,  to  witness  the  unrelenting  resentment 
with  which  you  prosecute  your  mother  for  a  fault,  which, 
if  it  be  one,  arose  out  of  love  to  you." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  "  on  this  subject  you  move 
me  not.  1  will  fly  before  no  man.  If  Barcaldine  should 
send  every  Gael  that  is  under  his  banner,  here,  and  in 
this  place,  will  I  abide  them  ;  and  when  you  bid  me  fly, 
you  may  as  well  command  yonder  mountain  to  be  loos- 
ened from  its  foundations.  Had  I  been  sure  of  the  road 
by  which  they  are  coming  hither,  1  had  spared  them  the 
pains  of  seeking  me  ;  but  I  might  go  by  the  mountain, 
while  they  perchance  came  by  the  lake.  Here  I  will 
abide  my  fate  ;  nor  is  there  in  Scotland  a  voice  of  power 
enough  to  bid  me  stir  from  hence,  and  be  obeyed." 

"  Here,  then,  I  also  stay,"  said  Elspat,  rising  up  and 
speaking  with  assumed  composure.  "  I  have  seen  my 
husband's  death — my  eyelids  shall  not  grieve  to  look  on 
the  fall  of  my  son.  But  MacTavish  Mbor  died  as  be- 
came the  brave,  with  his  good  sword  in  his  right  hand  ; 
my  son  will  perish  like  the  bullock  that  is  driven  to  tiie 
shambles  by  the  Saxon  owner  who  has  bought  him  for  a 
price.' 


THE    CANONGATE.  « 

'*  Mother,"  said  the  unhappy  young  man,  "  you  have 
taken  my  life  ;  lo  that  you  have  a  right,  for  you  gave  it  ; 
but  touch  not  my  honour  !  It  came  to  me  from  a  brave 
train  of  ancestors,  and  should  be  sullied  neither  by  man's 
deed  nor  woman's  speech.  What  I  shall  do,  perhaps  I 
myself  yet  know  not ;  but  ternpt  me  no  farther  by  re- 
proachful words  ;  you  have  already  made  wounds  more 
than  you  can  ever  heal." 

"  It  is  well,  my  son,"  said  Elspat,  in  reply.  "  Expect 
neither  farther  complaint  nor  remonstrance  from  me  ;  but 
let  us  be  silent,  and  wait  the  chance  which  Heaven  shall 
send  us." 

The  sun  arose  on  the  next  morning,  and  found  the 
bothy  silent  as  the  grave.  The  mother  and  son  had 
arisen,  and  were  engaged  each  in  their  separate  task — 
Hamish  in  preparing  and  cleaning  his  arms  with  the 
greatest  accuracy,  but  with  an  air  of  deep  dejection. 
Elspat,  more  restless  in  her  agony  of  spirit,  employed 
herself  in  making  ready  the  food  which  the  distress  of 
yesterday  had  induced  them  both  to  dispense  with  for  an 
unusual  number  of  hours.  She  placed  it  on  the  board 
before  her  son  so  soon  as  it  was  prepared,  with  the  words 
of  a  Gaelic  poet,  "  Without  daily  food,  the  husbandman's 
ploughshare  stands  still  in  the  furrow ;  without  daily  food, 
the  sword  of  the  warrior  is  too  heavy  for  his  hand.  Our 
bodies  are  our  slaves,  yet  they  must  be  fed  if  we  would 
have  their  serv:ce.  So  spake  in  ancient  days  the  Blind 
Bard  to  the  warriors  of  Fion." 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  but  he  fed  on  what 
was  placed  before  him,  as  if  to  gather  strength  for  the 
scene  which  he  was  to  undergo.  When  his  mother  saw 
that  he  had  eaten  what  sufficed  him,  she  again  filled  the 
fatal  quaigh,  and  proffered  it  as  the  conclusion  of  the 
-epast.  But  he  started  aside  with  a  convulsive  gest'.ire, 
expressive  at  once  of  fear  and  abhorrence. 

"  Nay,  my  son,"  she  said,  "  this  time,  surely,  thou 
hast  no  cause  of  fear." 

"  Urge  me  not,  mother,"  answered, Hamish  ;  ';  or  put 
he  leprous  toad  into  a  flagon,  and  I  will  drink  ;  but  from 


144  CHRONICLES    OF 

that  accursed  cup,  and  of  that  mind-destroying  potion, 
never  will  I  taste  more  !" 

"  At  your  pleasure,  my  son,"  said  Elspat,  haughtily 
and  began,  with  much  apparent  assiduity,  the  various  do- 
mestic tasks  which  had  been  interrupted  during  the  pre- 
ceding day.  Whatever  was  at  her  heart,  all  anxiety 
seemed  banished  from  her  looks  and  demeanour.  It  was 
but  from  an  over  activity  of  bustling  exertion  that  it  might 
have  been  perceived,  by  a  close  observer,  that  her  actions 
were  spurred  by  some  internal  cause  of  painful  excite- 
ment ;  and  such  a  spectator,  too,  might  also  have  observed 
how  often  she  broke  off  the  snatches  of  songs  or  tunes 
which  she  hummed,  apparently  without  knowing  what  she 
was  doing,  in  order  to  cast  a  hasty  glance  from  the  door 
of  the  hut.  Whatever  might  be  in  the  mind  of  Harnish, 
his  demeanour  was  directly  the  reverse  of  that  adopted 
by  his  mother.  Having  finished  the  task  of  cleaning  and 
preparing  his  arms,  which  he  arranged  within  the  hut, 
he  sat  himself  down  before  the  door  of  the  bothy,  and 
watched  the  opposite  hill,  like  the  fixed  sentinel  who  ex- 
pects the  approach  of  an  enemy.  Noon  found  him  in 
the  same  unchanged  posture,  and  it  was  an  hour  after 
that  period,  when  his  mother,  standing  beside  him,  laid  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  tone  indifferent,  as  if 
she  had  been  talking  of  some  friendly  visit,  "  When  dost 
thou  expect  them  *?" 

"  They  cannot  be  here  till  the  shadows  fall  long  to  the 
eastward,"  replied  Hamish  ;  "  that  is,  even  supposing 
the  nearest  party,  commanded  by  Sergeant  Allan  Breack 
Cameron,  has  been  commanded  hither  by  express  from 
Dumbarton,  as  it  is  most  likely  they  will." 

"  Then  enter  beneath  your  mother's  roof  once  more  ; 
partake  the  last  lime  of  the  food  which  she  has  prepared  , 
after  this  let  them  come,  and  thou  shall  see  if  thy  mother 
is  an  useless  encumbrance  in  the  day  of  strife.  Thy  hand 
practised  as  it  is,  cannot  fire  these  arms  so  fast  as  I  can 
load  them  ;  nay,  if  it  is  necessary,  I  do  not  myself  fear 
ihe  flash  or  the  report,  and  my  aim  has  been  held  fatal.' 


THE    CANONGATE.  145 

'«  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  mother,  meddle  not  with 
this  matter  !"  said  Hamish.  "  Allan  Breack  is  a  wise 
man  and  a  kind  one,  and  comes  of  a  good  stem.  It  may 
be  he  can  promise  for  our  officers,  that  they  will  touch 
me  with  no  infamous  punishment ;  and  if  they  offer  me 
confinement  in  the  dungeon,  or  death  by  the  musket,  to 
that  I  may  not  object." 

"  Alas,  and  wilt  thou  trust  to  their  word,  my  foolish 
child  9  Remember  the  race  of  Dermid  were  ever  fail 
and  false,  and  no  sooner  shall  they  have  gyves  on  thy 
hands,  than  they  will  strip  thy  shoulders  for  the  scourge." 
"  Save  your  advice,  mother,"  said  Hamish,  sternly  ; 
"  for  me,  my  mind  is  made  up." 

But  though  he  spoke  thus,  to  escape  the  almost  perse- 
cuting urgency  of  his  mother,  Hamish  would  have  found 
it,  at  that  moment,  impossible  to  say  upon  what  course  of 
conduct  he  had  thus  fixed.  On  one  point  alone  he  was 
determined,  namely,  to  abide  his  destiny,  be  what  it  might, 
and  not  to  add  to  the  breach  of  his  word,  of  which  he 
had  been  involuntarily  rendered  guilty,  by  attempting  to 
escape  from  punishment.  This  act  of  self-devotion  he 
conceived  to  be  due  to  his  own  honour,  and  that  of  his 
countrymen.  Which  of  his  comrades  would  in  future  be 
trusted,  if  he  should  be  considered  as  having  broken  his 
word,  and  betrayed  the  confidence  of  his  officers  ?  and 
whom  but  Hamish  Bean  MacTavish  would  the  Gael  ac- 
cuse, for  having  verified  and  confirmed  the  suspicions 
which  the  Saxon  General  was  well  known  to  entertain 
agflinst  the  good  faith  of  the  Highlanders  *?  He  was,  there- 
fore, bent  firmly  to  abide  his  fate.  But  whether  his  inten- 
tion was  to  yield  himself  peaceably  into  the  hands  of  the 
party  wh?  should  come  to  apprehend  him,  or  whether  he 
purposed  27  a  show  of  resistance  to  provoke  them  to  kill 
him  on  the  spot,  was  a  question  which  he  could  not  him- 
self have  answered.  His  desire  to  see  Barcaldine.  and 
explain  the  cause  of  his  absence  at  the  appointed  time, 
urged  mm  to  the  one  course  ;  his  fear  of  the  degrading 
punishment,  and  of  his  mother's  bitter  upbraidings,  strong- 
533 


•CHKOMCLKS    OF 

y  instigated  the  latter  and  the  more  dangerous  j;.irpose 
He  left  it  to  chance  to  decide  when  the  crisis  should 
arrive  ,  nor  did  he  tarry  long  in  expectation  of  the  catas- 
trophe. 

Evening  approached,  the  gigantic  shadows  of  the  moun- 
tains streamed  in  darkness  towards  the  east,  while  their 
western  peaks  were  still  glowing  with  crimson  and  gold. 
The  road  which  winds  round  Ben  Cruachan  was  fully 
visible  from  the  door  of  the  bothy,  when  a  party  of  five 
Highland  soldiers,  whose  arms  glanced  in  the  sun,  wheel- 
ed suddenly  into  sight  from  the  most  distant  extremity, 
where  the  highway  is  hidden  behind  the  mountain.  One 
of  the  party  walked  a  little  before  the  other  four,  who 
marched  regularly  and  in  files,  according  to  the  rules  of 
military  discipline.  There  was  no  dispute,  from  the  fire- 
locks which  they  carried,  and  the  plaids  and  bonnets 
which  they  wore,  that  they  were  a  party  of  Hamish's 
regiment,  under  a  non-commissioned  officer ;  and  there 
could  be  as  little  doubt  of  the  purpose  of  their  appearance 
on  the  banks  of  Loch  Awe. 

.  "  They  come  briskly  forward — "  said  the  widow  of 
RlacTavish  Mhor, — "  1  wonder  how  fast  or  how  slow 
some  of  them  will  return  again  !  But  they  are  five,  and 
it  is  too  much  odds  for  a  fair  field.  Step  back  within  the 
hut,  my.  son,  and  shoot  from  the  loophole  beside  the  door. 
Two  you  may  bring  down  ere  they  quit  the  high  road  for 
the  footpath — there  will  remain  but  three  ;  and  your  fa- 
ther, with  my  aid,  has  often  stood  against  that  number." 

Harnish  Bean  took  the  gun  which  his  mother  offered, 
but  did  not  stir  from  the  door  of  the  hut.  He  was  soon 
visible  to  the  party  on  the  high-road,  as  was  evident  from 
their  increasing  their  pace  to  a  run  ;  the  files,  however, 
still  keeping  together  like  coupled  greyhounds,  and  ad- 
vancing with  great  rapidity.  In  far  less  time  than  would 
have  been  accomplished  by  men  less  accustomed  to  the 
mountains,  they  had  left  the  high-road,  traversed  the  nar- 
row path,  and  approached  within  pistol-shot  of  the  bothy, 
at  the  door  of  which  stood  Hamish,  fixed  like  a  statue  ol 
fctone,  with  his  firelock  in  his  hand,  while  his  mother, 


THE    CANONGATfe.  14? 

placed  behind  him,  and  almost  driven  to  frenzy  by  the 
violence  of  her  passions,  reproached  bin  in  the  strongest 
terms  which  despair  could  invent,  for  hh  want  of  resolu- 
tion and  faintness  of  heart.  Her  words  increased  the 
bitter  gall  which  was  arising  in  the  young  man's  own  spirit, 
as  he  observed  the  unfriendly  speed  with  which  his  late 
comrades  were  eagerly  making  towards  him,  like  hounds 
towards  a  stag  when  he  is  at  bay.  The  untamed  and 
angry  passions  which  he  inherited  from  father  and  moth- 
er, were  awakened  by  the  supposed  hostility  of  those  who 
pursued  him  ;  and  the  restraint  under  which  these  pas- 
sions had  been  hitherto  held  by  his  sober  judgment,  be- 
gan gradually  to  give  way.  The  sergeant  now  called  to 
bin),  "  Harnish  Bean  MacTavish,  lay  down  your  arms 
and  surrender." 

"  Do  you  stand,  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  and  command 
your  men  to  stand,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  us  all." 

"  Halt,  men — "  sa'rd  the  sergeant,  but  continuing  him- 
self to  advance.  "  Hamish,  think  what  you  do,  and  give 
up  your  gun  ;  you  may  spill  blood,  but  you  cannot  escape 
punishment." 

"The  scourge — the  scourge!  my  son,  beware  the 
scourge,"  whispered  his  mother. 

"  Take  heed,  Allan  Breack,"  said  Hamish.  "  I  would 
not  hurt  you  willingly, — but  I  will  not  be  taken  unless  you 
can  assure  me  against  the  Saxon  lash." 

"  Fool !"  answered  Cameron,  "  you  know  I  cannot. 
Yet  I  will  do  all  I  can.  1  will  say  I  met  you  on  your  re- 
turn, and  the  punishment  will  be  light — but  give  up  your 
musket — Come  on,  men." 

Instantly  he  rushed  forward,  extending  his  arm  as  if  to 
push  aside  the  young  man's  levelled  firelock.  Elspat 
exclaimed,  "  Now,  spare  not  your  father's  blood  to  de- 
fend your  father's  hearth  !"  Hamish  fired  his  piece,  and 
Cameron  dropped  dead. — All  these  things  happened,  it 
might  be  said,  in  the  same  moment  of  time.  The  soldiers 
;  -shed  forward  and  seized  Hamish,  who,  seeming  petri- 
iied  with  what  he  had  done.  offered  not  the  least  resistance. 
\ot  so  his  mother,  who,  seeing  the  men  about  to  put 


145  CHRONICLES    OF 

handcuffs  on  her  son,  threw  herself  en  the  soldiers  with 
such  fury,  that  it  requ-'-ed  two  of  them  to  hold  her,  wn.le 
the  rest  secured  the  prisoner. 

"  Are  you  not  an  accursed  creature,"  said  one  of  the 
men  to  Hamish,  "  to  have  slain  your  best  friend,  who  was 
contriving,  during  the  whole  march,  how  he  could  find 
some  way  of  getting  you  off  without  punishment  for  your 
desertion  9" 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  mother1?"  said  Hamish,  turning 
himself  as  much  towards  her  as  his  bonds  would  permit 
— but  the  mother  heard  nothing,  and  saw  nothing.  She 
had  fainted  on  the  floor  of  her  hut.  Without  waiting  for 
ner  recovery,  the  party  almost  immediately  began  their 
homeward  march  towards  Dunbarton,  leading  along  with 
them  their  prisoner.  They  thought  it  necessary,  how- 
ever, to  stay  for  a  little  space  at  the  village  of  Dalmally, 
from  which  they  despatched  a  party  of  the  inhabitants  to 
bring  away  the  body  of  their  unfortunate  leader,  while 
they  themselves  repaired  to  a  magistrate  to  state  what  had 
happened,  and  require  his  instructions  as  to  the  farther 
course  to  be  pursued.  The  crime  being  of  a  military 
character,  they  were  instructed  to  inarch  the  prisoner  to 
Dunbarton  without  delay. 

The  swoon  of  the  mother  of  Hamish  lasted  for  a  length 
of  time  ;  the  longer  perhaps  that  her  constitution,  strong 
as  it  was,  must  have  been  much  exhausted  by  her  previous 
agitation  of  three  days'  endurance.  She  was  roused  from 
her  stupor  at  length  by  female  voices,  which  cried  the 
coronach,  or  lament  for  the  dead,  with  clapping  of  hands 
and  loud  exclamations  ;  while  the  melancholy  note  of  a 
lament,  appropriate  to  the  clan  Cameron,  played  on  the 
bagpipe,  was  heard  from  time  to  time. 

Elspat  started  up  like  one  awakened  from  the  dead, 
and  without  any  accurate  recollection  of  the  scene  which 
had  passed  before  her  eyes.  There  were  females  in  the 
hut  who  were  swathing  the  corpse  in  its  bloody  plaid  be- 
fore carrying  it  from  the  fatal  spot.  "  Women,"  she  said, 
starting  up  and  interrupting  their  chant  at  once  and  their 


THE    CANONGATE.  H9 

.abour—  "  Tell  me,  women,  why  sing  you  the  dirge  01 
MacDhonuil  Dh1    in  the  house  of  MacTavish  Mhor  "?" 

"  She-wolf,  be  silent  with  tliine  ill-omened  yell,  an- 
swered.  one  of  the  females,  a  relation  of  the  deceased, 
"  and  let  us  do  our  duty  to  our  beloved  kinsman  !  There 
shall  never  be  coronach  cried,  or  dirge  played,  for  thee 
or  thy  bloody  vvolf-burd.*  The  ravens  shall  eat  him 
from  the  gibbet,  and  the  foxes  and  wild  cats  shall  tear  thy 
corpse  upon  the  hill.  Cursed  be  he  that  would  sain  your 
bones,  or  add  a  stone  to  your  cairn  !" 

"  Daughter  of  a  foolish  mother,"  answered  the  widow 
of  MacTavish  Mhor,  "  know  that  the  gibbet,  with  which 
you  threaten  us,  is  no  portion  of  our  inheritance.  For 
thirty  years  the  Black  Tree  of  the  Law,  whose  apples 
are  dead  men's  bodies,  hungered  afler  the  beloved  hus- 
band of  my  heart  ;  but  he  died  like  a  brave  man,  with 
the  sword  in  his  hand,  and  defrauded  it  of  its  hopes  and 
its  fruit." 

"  So  shall  it  not  be  with  thy  child,  bloody  sorceress," 
replied  the  female  mourner,  whose  passions  were  as  vio- 
lent as  those  of  Elspat  herself.  "  The  ravens  shall  teai 
his  fair  hair  to  line  their  nests,  before  the  sun  sinks  beneath 
the  Treshornish  islands." 

These  words  recalled  to  Elspat's  mind  the  whole  his- 
tory of  the  last  three  dreadful  days.  At  first,  she  stood 
fixed  as  if  the  extremity  of  distress  had  converted  her  into 
stone  ;  but  in  a  minute,  the  pride  and  violence  of  her 
temper,  out-braved  as  she  thought  herself  on  her  own 
threshold,  enabled  her  to  reply — "Yes,  insulting  hag,  my 
fair-haired  boy  may  die,  but  it  will  not  be  with  a  wh;"a 
hand — it  has  been  dyed  in  the  blood  of  his  enem\,  in 
the  best  blood  of  a  Cameron — remember  that  ;  and  when 
you  lay  your  dead  in  his  grave,  let  it  be  his  best  epitaph 
that  he  was  killed  by  Hamish  Bean  for  essaying  to  lay 
hands  on  the  son  of  MacTavish  Mhor  on  his  own  thres- 


*  Wolf-brood,  t.  e.  wolf-cub. 
VOL.    I. 


150  CHRONICLES    OF 

hold.     Farewell — the  shame  of  defeat,  loss,  and  slaugh 
ter,  remain  with  the  clan  that  has  endured  it !" 

The  relative  of  the  slaughtered  Cameron  raised  hei 
voice  in  reply  ;  but  Elspat,  disdaining  to  continue  the  ob- 
jurgation,  or  perhaps  feeling  her  grief  likely  to  overmaster 
her  power  of  expressing  her  resentment,  had  left  the  hut, 
and  was  walking  forth  in  the  bright  moonshine. 

The  females  who  were  arranging  the  corpr-e  of  the 
slaughtered  man,  hurried  from  their  melancholy  labour 
to  look  after  her  tall  figure  as  it  glided  away  amoni."  the 
cliffs.  "  1  am  glad  she  is  gone,"  said  one  of  the  younger 
persons  who  assisted.  "  I  would  as  soon  dress  a  corpse 
where  the  great  Fiend  himself — God  sain  us — stood  visi- 
bly before  us,  as  when  Elspat  of  the  Tree  is  amongst  us. 
— Ay — ay,  even  overmuch  intercourse  hath  she  had  with 
the  Enemy  in  her  day." 

"  Silly  woman,"  answered  the  female  who  had  main- 
tained the  dialogue  with  the  departed  Elspat,  "  thinkest 
thou  that  there  is  a  worse  fiend  on  earth,  or  beneath  it, 
than  the  pride  and  fury  of  an  offended  woman,  like  yon- 
der bloody-minded  hag '?  Know  that  blood  has  been  as 
familiar  to  her  as  the  dew  to  the  mountain-daisy.  Many 
and  many  a  brave  man  has  she  caused  to  breathe  their 
last  for  little  wrong  they  had  done  to  her  or  hers.  But 
her  hough-sinews  are  cut,  now  that  her  wolf-burd  must, 
like  a  murderer  as  he  is,  make  a  murderer's  end." 

VV'hilst  the  women  thus  discoursed  together,  as  they 
watched  the  corpse  of  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  the  un- 
happy cause  of  his  death  pursued  her  lonely  way  across 
the  mountain.  While  she  remained  within  sight  of  the 
bothy,  she  put  a  strong  constraint  on  herself,  that  by  no 
alteration  of  pace  or  gesture,  she  might  afford  to  her  ene- 
mies the  triumph  of  calculating  the  excess  of  her  mental 
agitation,  nay  despair.  She  stalked,  therefore,  with  a 
slow  rather  than  a  swift  step,  and,  holding  herself  upright, 
seemed  at  once  to  endure  with  firmness  that  wo  which 
was  passed,  and  bid  defiance  to  that  which  was  about  to 
come.  But  when  she  was  beyond  the  sight  of  those  who 
^emained  in  the  hut,  she  could  ho  longer  suppress  the 


THE    CAXOXGATK.  151 

extremity  of  her  agitation.  Drawing  her  mantle  wildly 
round  her,  she  stopped  at  the  first  knoll,  and  climbing  tc 
its  summit,  extended  her  arms  up  to  the  bright  moon,  as 
if  accusing  heaven  and  earth  for  her  misfortunes,  and 
uttered  scream  on  scream,  like  those  of  an  eagle  whose 
nest  has  been  plundered  of  her  brood.  Awhile  she  vent- 
ed her  grief  in  these  inarticulate  cries,  then  rushed  on  her 
way  with  a  hasty  and  unequal  step,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
overtaking  the  party  which  was  conveying  her  son  a  pris- 
oner to  Dunbarton.  But  her  strength,  superhuman  as  it 
seemed,  failed  her  in  the  trial,  nor  was  it  possible  for  her, 
wiih  her  utmost  efforts,  to  accomplish  her  purpose. 

Yet  she  pressed  onward,  with  all  the  speed  which  her 
exhausted  frame  could  exert.  When  food  became  in- 
dispensable, she  entered  the  first  cottage  :  "  Give  me  to 
eat,"  she  said  ;  "  1  am  the  widow  of  MacTavish  AJhor — 
I  am  the  mother  of  Hamish  MacTavish  Bean, — give  me 
to  eat,  that  I  may  once  more  see  my  fair-haired  son.v 
Her  demand  was  never  refused,  though  granted  in  many 
cases  with  a  kind  of  struggle  between  compassion  and 
aversion  in  some  of  those  to  whom  she  applied,  which 
was  in  others  qualified  by  fear.  The  share  she  had  had 
in  occasioning  the  death  of  Allan  Breack  Cameron, 
which  must  probably  involve  that  of  her  own  son,  was 
not  accurately  known  ;  but,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  vio- 
lent passions  and  former  habits  of  life,  no  one  doubted  that 
in  one  way  or  other  she  had  been  the  cause  of  the  catas- 
trophe ;  and  Hamish  Bean  was  considered,  in  the  slaugh- 
ter which  he  had  committed,  rather  as  the  instrument 
than  as  the  accomplice  of  his  mother. 

This  general  opinion  of  his  countrymen  was  of  little 
service  to  the  unfortunate  Hamish.  As  his  captain, 
Green  Colin,  understood  the  manners  and  habits  of  his 
country,  he  had  no  difficulty  m  collecting  from  Hamish 
the  particulars  accompanying  his  supposed  desertion,  and 
the  subsequent  death  of  the  non-commissioned  officer. 
He  felt  the  utmost  compassion  for  a  youth,  who  had  thus 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  extravagant  and  fatal  fondness  of  a 
pi  rent.  But  he  had  no  excuse  to  plead  which  could  res 


152  CHRONICLES    OP 

cue  his  unhappy  recruit  from  the  doom,  which  military 
discipline  and  the  award  of  a  court-martial  denounced 
against  him  for  the  crime  he  had  committed. 

No  time  had  been  lost  in  their  proceedings,  and  as  little 
was  interposed  betwixt  sentence  and  execution.  General 

had   determined  to  make  a   severe  example  of  the 

first  deserter  who  should  fall  into  his  power,  and  here  was 
one  who  had  defended  himself  by  main  force,  and  slain 
in  the  affray  the  officer  sent  to  take  him  into  custody.  A 
fitter  subject  for  punishment  could  not  have  occurred,  and 
Hamish  was  sentenced  to  immediate  execution.  All  which 
the  interference  of  his  captain  ;n  his  favour  could  procure 
was  that  he  should  die  a  soldier's  death  ;  for  there  hac 
been  a  purpose  of  executing  him  upon  the  gibbet. 

The  worthy  clergyman  of  Glenorquhy  chanced  to  be 
it  Dunbarton,  in  attendance  upon  some  church  courts,  at 
Jie  time  of  this  catastrophe.  He  visited  his  unfortunate 
parishioner  in  his  dungeon,  found  him  ignorant  indeed, 
but  not  o-_:''nate,  and  the  answers  which  he  received  from 
him,  when  conversing  on  religious  topics,  were  such  as 
induced  him  doubly  to  regret,  that  a  mind  naturally  pure 
and  noble  should  have  remained  unhappily  so  wild  and 
uncultivated. 

When  he  ascertained  the  real  character  and  disposition 
of  the  young  man,  the  worthy  pastor  made  deep  and  pain- 
ful reflections  on  his  own  shyness  and  timidity,  which, 
arising  out  of  the  evil  fame  that  attached  to  the  lineage  of 
Hamish,  had  restrained  him  from  charitably  endeavour- 
ing to  bring  this  strayed  sheep  within  the  great  fold. 
While  the  good  minister  blamed  his  cowardice  in  times 
past,  which  had  deterred  him  from  risking  his  person,  to 
save,  perhaps,  an  immortal  soul,  he  resolved  no  longer  to 
be  governed  by  such  timid  counsels,  but  to  endeavour,  by 
application  to  his  officers,  to  obtain  a  reprieve,  at  least,  if 
not  a  pardon,  for  the  criminal,  in  whom  he  felt  so  unu- 
sually interested,  at  once  from  his  docility  of  temper  and 
his  generosity  of  disposition. 

Accordingly  the  divine  sought  out  Captain  Campbrl' 
at  the  barracks  within  the  garrison.  There  was  a  gloomy 


THE    CANONGATE.  153 

melancholy  on  the  brow  of  Green  Colin,  w.i  t.i  was  no 
lessened,  but  increased,  when  the  clergyman  stated  his 
name,  quality,  and  errand.  "  You  cannot  tell  me  better 
of  the  young  man  than  I  am  disposed  to  believe,"  answer- 
ed the  Highland  officer  ;  "  you  cannot  ask  me  to  do  more 
in  his  behalf  than  1  am  of  myself  inclined,  and  have  al- 
ready endeavoured  to  do.  But  it  is  all  in  vain.  General 

is  half  a  Lowlander,  half  an  Englishman.     He  has 

no  idea  of  the  high  and  enthusiastic  character  which  in 
these  mountains  often  brings  exalted  virtues  in  contact 
with  great  crimes,  which,  however,  are  less  offences  of 
the  heart  than  errors  of  the  understanding.  I  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  tell  him,  that  in  this  young  man  he  was  putting 
to  death  the  best  and  the  bravest  of  my  company,  where 
all,  or  almost  all,  are  good  and  brave.  I  explained  to 
him  by  what  strange  delusion  the  culprit's  apparent  de- 
sertion was  occasioned,  and  how  little  his  heart  was  ac- 
cessary to  the  crime  which  his  hand  unhappily  committed. 
His  answer  was,  '  These  are  Highland  visions,  Captain 
Campbell,  as  unsatisfactory  and  vain  as  those  of  the  sec- 
ond sight.  An  act  of  gross  desertion  may,  in  any  case, 
be  palliated  under  the  plea  of  intoxication  ;  the  murder 
of  an  officer  may  be  as  easily  coloured  over  with  that  of 
temporary  insanity.  The  example  must  be  made,  and  if 
it  has  fallen  on  a  man  otherwise  a  good  recruit,  it  will 
have  the  greater  effect.' — Such  being  the  General's  un- 
alterable purpose,"  continued  Captain  Campbell, ^with  a 
sigh,  "  be  it  your  care,  reverend  sir,  that  your  penitent 
prepare  by  break  of  day  to-morrow  for  that  great  change 
which  we  shall  all  one  day  be  subjected  to." 

"  And  for  which,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  may  God  pre- 
pare us  all,  as  I  in  my  duty  will  not  be  wanting  to  tl  s 
poor  youth." 

Next  morning  as  the  very  earliest  beams  of  sunrise  sa- 
luted the  grey  towers  which  crown  the  summit  of  that  sin- 
gular and  tremendous  rock,  the  soldiers  of  the  new  High- 
land regiment  appeared  on  the  parade,  within  the  Castle  of 
Dunbarton,  and  having  fallen  into  order,  began  *o  move 
downward  by  steep  staircases  and  narrow  passages  towards 


IvH  CI1RONICI.RS    OF 

the  external  barrier-gate,  which  is  at  the  very  bottom  o 
the  rock.  The  wild  wai lings  of  the  pibroch  were  heard 
at  times,  interchanged  with  the  drums  and  fifes,  which 
•beat  the  Dead  March. 

The  unhappy  criminal's  fate  did  not,  at  first,  excite 
that  general  sympathy  in  the  regiment  which  would  prob- 
ably have  arisen  had  he  been  executed  for  desertion  alone. 
The  slaughter  of  the  unfortunate  Allan  Breack  had  given 
a  different  colour  to  Hamish's  offence ;  for  the  deceased 
was  much  beloved,  and  besides  belonged  to  a  numerous 
and  powerful  clan,  of  whom  there  were  many  in  the  ranks. 
The  unfortunate  criminal,  on  the  contrary,  was  little 
known  to,  and  scarcely  connected  with  any  of  his  regi- 
mental companions.  His  father  had  been,  indeed,  dis- 
tinguished for  his  strength  and  manhood  ;  bjLit  he  was  ol 
a  broken  clan,  as  those  names  were  called,  who  had  no 
chief  to  lead  them  to  battle. 

It  would  have  been  almost  impossible  in  another  case, 
to  have  turned  out  of  the  ranks  ol  the  regiment  the  party 
necessary  for  execution  of  the  sentence  ;  but  the  six  in- 
dividuals selected  for  that  purpose,  were  friends  of  the 
deceased,  descended,  like  him,  from  the  race  of  Mac- 
Dhonuil  Dim  ;  and  while  they  prepared  for  the  dismal 
task  which  their  duty  imposed,  it  was  not  without  a  stern 
feeling  of  gratified  revenge.  The  leading  company  ol 
the  regiment  began  now  to  defile  from  the  barrier-gate 
and  was  followed  by  the  others,  each  successively  moving 
and  halting  according  to  the  orders  of  the  Adjutant,  so  as  to 
form  three  sides  of  an  oblong  square,  with  the  ranks  faced 
inwards.  The  fourth,  or  blank  side  of  the  square,  was 
closed  up  by  the  huge  and  lofty  precipice  on  which  the 
Castle  rises.  About  the  centre  of  the  procession,  bare- 
headed, disarmed,  and  with  his  hands  bound,  came  the 
unfortunate  victim  of  military  law.  He  was  deadly  pale, 
but  his  step  was  firm  and  his  eye  as  bright  as  ever.  The 
clergyman  walked  by  his  side — the  coffin,  which  \va;  tc 
receive  his  mortal  remains,  was  borue  before  him.  The 
looks  of  his  comrades  were  still,  composed,  and  solemn 
The1-'  felt  for  the  youth,  whose  handsome  form,  and  maul) 


TIIK    CAlfOXGATE.  155 

yet  submissive  deportment  had,  as  soon  as  he  was  dis- 
tinctly visible  to  them,  softened  the  hearts  of  many,  even 
of  some  who  had  been  actuated  by  vindictive  feelings. 

The  coffin  destined  for  the  yet  living  body  of  Hamish 
Bean  was  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow  square, 
about  t\vo  yards  distant  from  the  foot  of  the  precipice, 
which  rises  in  that  place  as  steep  as  a  stone  wall  to  the 
height  of  three  or  four  hundred  feet.  Thither  the  pris- 
oner was  also  led,  the  clergyman  still  continuing  by  his 
side,  pouring  forth  exhortations  of  courage  and  consola- 
tion, to  which  the  youth  appeared  to  listen  with  respect- 
ful devotion.  With  slow,  and,  it  seemed,  almost  unwilling 
steps,  the  6ring  party  entered  the  square,  and  were  drawn 
up  facing  the  prisoner,  about  ten  yards  distant.  The 
clergyman  was  now  about  to  retire — "  Think,  my  son," 
he  said,  "  on  what  J  have  told  you,  and  let  your  hope  be 
rested  on  the  anchor  which  I  havte  given.  You  will  then 
exchange  a  short  and  miserable  existence  here,  for  a  life 
in  which  you  will  experience  neither  sorrow  nor  pain. — 
Is  there  aught  else  which  you  can  intrust  to  me  to  exe- 
cute for  you  9" 

The  youth  looked  at  his  sleeve  buttons.  They  were 
of  gold,  booty  perhaps  which  his  father  had  taken  from 
some  English  officer  during  the  civil  wars.  The  clergy- 
man disengaged  them  from  his  sleeves. 

••  .My  mother  !"  he  said  with  some  effort,  "  give  them 
to  my  poor  mother  ! — See  her,  good  father,  and  teach  hei 
what  she  should  think  of  all  this.  Tell  her  Hamish  Bean 
is  more  glad  to  die  than  ever  he  was  to  rest  after  the  long- 
est day's  hunting.  Farewell,  sir — farewell !" 

The  good  man  could  scarce  retire  from  the  fatal  spot. 
An  officer  afforded  him  the  support  of  his  arm.  At  bis 
last  look  towards  Hamish,  he  beheld  him  alive  and  kneel- 
ing on  the  coffin  ;  the  few  that  were  around  him  had  all 
withdrawn.  The  fatal  word  was  given,  the  rock  rung 
sharp  to  the  sound  of  the  discharge,  and  Hamish.  failing 
forward  with  a  groan,  died,  it  may  be  sixiposed,  without 
almost  a  sense  of  the  passing  agony. 


156  CIIUONICLKS    OF 

Ten  or  twelve  of  his  own  company  then  came  forward, 
and  laid  with  solemn  reverence  the  remains  of  their  com- 
~ade  in  the  coffin,  while  the  Dead  March  was  again  struck 
up,  and  the  several  companies,  marching  in  single  files,  pass- 
ed the  coffin  one  by  one,  in  order  that  all  might  receive 
from  the  awful  spectacle  the  warning  which  it  was  peculiar- 
ly intended  to  afford.  The  regiment  was  then  marched  off 
the  ground,  and  reascended  the  ancient  cliff,  their  music, 
as  usual  on  such  occasions,  striking  lively  strains,  as  it 
sorrow,  or  even  deep  thought,  should  as  short  a  while  as 
possible  be  the  tenant  of  the  soldier's  bosom. 

At  the  same  time  the  small  party,  which  we  before 
mentioned,  bore  the  bier  of  the  ill-fated  Hamish  to  his 
humble  grave,  in  a  corner  of  the  church-yard  of  Dunbar- 
ton,  usually  assigned  to  criminals.  Here,  among  the  dust 
of  the  guilty,  lies  a  youth,  whose  name,  had  he  survived 
the  ruin  of  the  fatal  events  by  which  he  was  hurried  into 
crime,  might  have  adorned  the  annals  of  the  brave. 

The  minister  of  Glenorquhy  left  Dunbarton  immedi- 
ately after  he  had  witnessed  the  last  scene  of  this  melan- 
choly catastrophe.  His  reason  acquiesced  in  the  justice 
of  the  sentence,  which  required  blood  for  blood,  and  he 
acknowledged  that  the  vindictive  character  of  his  country- 
men required  to  be  powerfully  restrained  by  the  strong 
curb  of  social  law.  But  still  he  mourned  over  the  indi- 
vidual victim.  Who  may  arraign  the  bolt  of  Heaven 
when  it  bursts  among  the  sons  of  the  forest  ;  yet  who  can 
refrain  from  mourning,  when  it  selects  for  the  object  ot 
its  blighting  aim  the  fair  stem  of  a  young  oak,  that  prom- 
ised to  be  the  pride  of  the  dell  in  which  it  flourished  *? 
Musing  on  these  melancholy  events,  noon  found  him  en- 
gaged in  the  mountain  passes,  by  which  he  was  to  return 
to  his  still  distant  home.  • 

Confident  in  his  knowledge  of  the  country,  the  clergy 
man  had  left  the  main  road,  to  seek  one  of  those  shorter 
paths,  which  are  only  used  by  pedestrians,  or  by  men 
like  the  minister,  mounted  on  the  small,  but  sure-footed, 
hardy,  and  sagacious  horses  of  the  country.  The  place 
which  lie  now  traversed,  was  in  itself  gloomy  and  deso- 


THE    CANONGATE.  157 

late,  and  tradition  had  added  to  it  the  terror  of  superstition, 
Dy  affirming  it  was  haunted  by  an  evil  spirit,  termed 
Cloght-dearg,  that  is,  Redrnantle,  who  at  all  times,  but 
especially  at  noon  and  at  midnight,  traversed  the  glen,  in 
enmity  both  to  man  and  the  inferior  creation,  did  such 
evil  as  her  power  was  permitted  to  extend  to,  and  afflicted 
with  ghastly  terrors  those  whom  she  had  not  license  olh 
erwise  to  hurt. 

The  minister  of  Glenorquhy  had  set  his  face  in  oppo- 
sition to  many  of  these  superstitions,  which  he  justly 
thought  were  derived  from  the  dark  ages  of  Popery,  per- 
haps even  from  those  of  Paganism,  and  unfit  to  be  enter- 
tained or  believed  by  the  Christians  of  an  enlightened  age. 
Some  of  his  more  attached  parishioners  considered  him 
as  too  rash  in  opposing  the  ancient  faith  of  their  fathers  ; 
and  though  they  honoured  the  moral  intrepidity  of  their 
pastor,  they  could  not  avoid  entertaining  and  expressing 
fears,  that  he  would  one  day  fall  a  victim  to  his  temerity, 
and  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the  glen  of  the  Cloghl-dearg,  or 
some  of  those  other  haunted  wilds,  which  he  appeared 
rather  to  have  a  pride  and  pleasure  in  traversing  alone, 
on  the  days  and  hours  when  the  wicked  spirits  were  sup- 
posed to  have  especial  power  over  man  and  beast. 

These  legends  came  across  the  mind  of  the  clergyman  ; 
and,  solitary  as  he  was,  a  melancholy  smile  shaded  his 
cheek,  as  he  thought  of  the  inconsistency  of  human  nature, 
and  reflected  how  many  brave  men,  whom  the  yell  of  the 
pibroch  would  have  sent  headlong  against  fixed  bayonets, 
as  the  wild  bull  rushes  on  his  enemy,  might  have  yet 
feared  to  encounter  those  visionary  terrors,  which  he  him- 
self, a  man  of  peace,  and  in  ordinary  perils  no  way  re- 
markable for  the  firmness  of  his  nerves,  was  now  risking 
without  hesitation. 

As  he  looked  around  the  scene  of  desolation,  he  could 
not  but  acknowledge,  in  his  own  mind,  that  it  was  not  ill 
chosen  for  the  haunt  of  those  spirits,  which  are  said  to 
delight  in  solitude  and  desolation.  The  glen  was  so  steep 
find  narrow,  that  there  was  but  just  room  for  the  meridian 

VOL      1. 


J58  CHRONICLES    OF 

sun  to  dart  a  few  scattered  rays  upon  the  gloomy  and  pre- 
carious stream  which  stole  through  its  recesses,  for  the 
most  part  in  silence,  but  occasionally  murmuring  sullen!)' 
against  the  rocks  and  large  stones,  which  seemed  deter- 
mined to  bar  its  further  progress.  In  winter,  or  in  the 
rainy  season,  this  small  stream  was  a  foaming  torrent  of 
the  most  formidable  magnitude,  and  it  was  at  such  periods 
that  it  had  torn  open  and  laid  bare  the  broad-faced  and 
huge  fragments  of  rock,  which,  at  the  season  of  which  we 
speak,  hid  its  course  from  the  eye,  and  seemed  disposed 
totally  to  interrupt  its  course.  "  Undoubtedly,"  thought 
the  clergyman,  "  this  mountain  rivulet,  suddenly  swelled 
by  a  water-spout,  or  thunder-storm,  has  often  been  the 
cause  of  those  accidents,  which,  happening  in  the  glen 
called  by  her  name,  have  been  ascribed  to  the  agenc)  of 
the  Cloght-dearg. 

Just  as  this  idea  crossed  his  mind,  he  heard  a  female 
voice  exclaim,  in  a  wild  and  thrilling  accent,  "  Michael 
Tyrie — Michael  Tyrie  !"  He  looked  round  in  astonish- 
ment, and  not  without  some  fear.  It  seemed  for  an  in- 
stant, as  if  the  Evil  Being,  whose  existence  he  had  dis- 
owned, was  about  to  appear  for  the  punishment  of  his 
incredulity.  This  alarm  did  not  hold  him  more  than  an 
.'nstant,  nor  did  it  prevent  his  replying  in  a  firm  voice 
"  Who  calls — and  where  are  you  ?" 

"  One  who  journeys  in  wretchedness,  between  life 
and  death,"  answered  the  voice  ;  and  the  speaker,  a  tall 
female,  appeared  from  among  the  fragments  of  rocks 
which  had  concealed  her  from  view. 

As  she  approached  more  closely,  her  mantle  of  bright 
tartan,  in  which  the  red  colour  much  predominated,  her 
stature,  the  long  stride  with  which  she  advanced,  and  the 
wrilhen  features  and  wild  eyes  which  were  visible  from 
under  her  curch,  would  have  made  her  no  inadequate 
representative  of  the  spirit  which  gave  name  to  the  valley. 
But  Mr.  Tyrie  instantly  knew  her  as  the  woman  of  the 
TreCj  the  widow  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  the  now  childless 
mother  of  Harnish  Bean.  I  am  not  sure  whether  the 
minister  would  not  have  endured  the  visi'ation  of  tht» 


THE    CANONGXTE.  159 

Cloght-dearg  herself  rather  than  the  shock  of  Elspat's 
presence,  considering  her  crime  and  her  misery.  He 
drew  up  his  horse  instinctively,  and  stood  endeavouring 
to  collect  his  ideas,  while  a  few  paces  brought  her  up  to 
his  horse's  head. 

"  Michael  Tyrie,"  said  she,  "  the  foolish  women  ot 
the  Clachan*  hold  thee  as  a  God — be  one  to  me,  and  say 
that  my  son  lives.  Say  this,  and  I  too  will  be  of  thy  wor- 
ship— I  will  bend  my  knees  on  the  seventh  day  in  thy 
house  of  worship,  and  thy  God  shall  be  my  God." 

"  Unhappy  woman,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  man 
forms  not  pactions  with  his  Maker  as  with  a  creature  of 
clay  like  himself.  Thinkest  thou  to  chaffer  with  Him,  who 
formed  the  earth,  and  spread  out  the  heavens,  or  that  thou 
canst  offer  aught  of  homage  or  devotion  that  can  be  worth 

O  O 

acceptance  in  his  eyes  "?  He  hath  asked  obedience,  not 
sacrifice  ;  patience  under  the  trials  with  which  he  afflicts 
us,  instead  of  vain  bribes,  such  as  man  offers  to  his  change- 
ful brother  of  clay,  that  he  may  be  moved  from  his  pur- 
pose." 

"  Be  silent,  priest  !"  answered  the  desperate  woman  ; 
'  speak  not  to  me  the  words  of  thy  white  book.  Elspat's 
kindred  were  of  those  who  crossed  themselves  and  knelt 
when  the  sacring  bell  was  rung  ;  and  she  knows  that  atone- 
ment can  be  made  on  the  altar  for  deeds  done  in  the  field. 
Elspat  had  once  flocks  and  herds,  goats  upon  the  cliffs, 
and  cattle  in  the  strath.  She  wore  gold  around  her  neck 
and  on  her  hair — thick  twists  as  those  worn  by  the  heroes 
of  old.  All  these  would  she  have  resigned  to  the  priest 
—all  these  ;  and  if  he  wished  for  the  ornaments  of  a 
gentle  lady,  or  the  sporran  of  a  high  chief,  though  they 
had  been  great  as  MacallanMore  himself,  MacTavish 
Mhor  would  have  procured  them  if  Elspat  had  promised 
them.  Elspat  is  now  poor,  and  has  nothing  to  give.  But 
the  Black  Abbot  of  Inchaffray  would  have  bidden  her 
scourge  her  shoulders,  and  macerate  her  feet  by  pilgrim- 
age, and  he  would  have  granted  his  pardon  to  her  when 

*  *'.  e.  The  village,  literally  tlie  s<oue«. 


100  CHRONICLES    OF 

he  saw  that  her  blood  had  flowed,  and  that  1  er  flet.h  had 
been  torn.  These  were  the  priests  who  had  indeed  power 
even  with  the  most  powerful — they  threatened  the  great 
men  of  the  earth  with  the  word  of  their  mouth,  the  sen- 
tence of  their  book,  the  blaze  of  their  torch,  the  sound 
of  their  sacring  bell.  The  mighty  bent  to  their  will,  and 
unloosed  at  the  word  of  the  priests  those  whom  they  had 
bound -in  their  wrath,  and  set  at  liberty,  unharmed,  him 
whom  they  had  sentenced  to  death,  and  for  whose  blood 
they  had  thirsted.  These  were  a  powerful  race,  and 
might  well  ask  the  poor  to  kneel,  since  their  power  could 
humbje  the  proud.  But  you  ! — against  whom  are  ye 
strong,  but  against  women  who  have  been  guilty  of  folly, 
and  men  who  never  wore  sword  9  The  priests  of  old 
were  like  the  winter  torrent  which  fills  this  hollow  valley, 
and  rolls  these  massive  rocks  against  each  other  as  easily 
as  the  boy  plays  with  the  ball  which  he  casts  before  him 
—But  you  !  you  do  but  resemble  the  summer-stricken 
stream,  which  is  turned  aside  by  the  rushes,  and  stemmed 
by  a  bush  of  sedges — wo  worth  you,  for  there  is  no  help 
in  you  !" 

The  clergyman  was  at  no  loss  to  conceive  that  Elspat 
had  lost  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  without  gaining  any 
other,  and  that  she  still  retained  a  vague  and  confused 
idea  of  the  composition  with  the  priesthood,  by  confession, 
alms,  and  penance,  and  of  their  extensive  power,  which, 
according  to  her  notion,  was  adequate,  if  duly  propitiated, 
even  to  effecting  her  son's  safety.  Compassionating  her 
situation,  and  allowing  for  her  errors  and  ignorance,  he 
answered  her  with  mildness. 

"  Alas,  unhappy  woman  !  Would  to  God  I  could  con- 
vince thee  as  easily  where  thou  oughtest  to  seek,  and  art 
sure  to  find  consolation,  as  I  can  assure  you  with  a  single 
word,  that  were  Rome  and  all  her  priesthood  onco  more 
in  the  plenitude  of  their  power,  they  could  not,  for  lar- 
gesse or  penance,  afford  to  thy  misery  an  atom  of  aid  or 
comfort. — Elspat  MacTavish,  I  grieve  to  tell  you  the 
news." 


THE    CANONGATE.  161 

"  I  know  them  without  thy  speech,"  taid  the  unhappy 
vvornan — "  My  son  is  doomed  to  die." 

"  Elspat,"  resumed  the  clergyman,  "  he  was  doomed 
and  the  sentence  has  been  executed."  The  hapless  moth- 
er threw  her  eyes  up  to  heaven,  and  uttered  a  shriek  so 
unlike  the  voice  of  a  human  being,  that  the  eagle  which 
soared  in  middle  air  answered  it  as  she  would  have  done 
the  call  of  her  mate. 

"  It  is  impossible  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  impossible  ! 
Men  do  not  condemn  and  kill  on  the  same  day  !  Thou 
art  deceiving  me.  The  people  call  thee  holy — hast  thou 
the  heart  to  tell  a  mother  she  has  murdered  her  only 
child  •?" 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  priest,  the  lears  falling  fast 
from  his  eyes,  "  that  were  it  in  my  power,  I  would  gladly 
tell  better  tidings — But  these  which  I  bear  are  as  certain 
as  they  are  fatal — My  own  ears  heard  the  death-shot,  my 
own  eyes  beheld  thy  son's  death — thy  son's  funeral. — 
My  tongue  bears  witness  to  what  my  ears  heard  and  ni) 
eyes  saw." 

The  wretched  female  clasped  her  hands  close  together, 
and  held  them  up  towards  heaven  like  a  sibyl  announcing 
war  and  desolation,  while,  in  impotent  yet  frightful  rage, 
she  poured  forth  a  tide  of  the  deepest  imprecations. — 
"Base  Saxon  churl  !"  she  exclaimed,  "vile  hypocritical 
juggler  !  May  the  eyes  that  looked  tamely  on  the  death  ot 
my  fair-haired  boy  be  melted  in  their  sockets  with  cease- 
less tears,  shed  for  those  that  are  nearest  and  most  deal 
to  thee  !  May  the  ears  that  heard  his  death-knell  be  dead 
hereafter  to  all  other  sounds  save  the  screech  of  the  ra- 
ven, and  the  hissing  of  the  adder  !  May  the  tongue  that 
tells  me  of  his  death  and  of  my  own  crime,  be  withered 
•n  thy  mouth — or  better,  when  thou  wouldst  pray  with  thy 
people,  may  the  Evil  One  guide  it,  and  give  voice  tc 
blasphemies  instead  of  blessings,  until  men  shall  fly  in 
terror  from  thy  presence,  and  the  thunder  of  heaven  be 
aunched  against  thy  head,  and  stop  for  ever  thy  cursing 
•uid  accursed  voice  !  Begone  !  with  this  malison. — Elspat 
534 


162  CHUOJVICLES    OF 

will  never,  never  again  bestow  so  many  words  upon    ving 
man." 

She  kept  her  word — from  that  day  the  world  was  to 
her  a  wilderness,  in  which  she  remained  without  thought, 
care,  or  interest,  absorbed  in  her  own  grief,  indifferent  to 
everything  else. 

With  her  mode  of  life,  or  rather  of  existence,  the  read- 
er is  already  as  far  acquainted  as  I  have  the  power  ot 
making  him.  Of  her  death,  I  can  tell  him  nothing.  It 
is  supposed  to  have  happened  several  years  after  she  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  my  excellent  friend  Mrs.  Be- 
thune  Baliol.  Her  benevolence,  which  was  never  satis- 
fied with  dropping  a  sentimental  tear,  when  there  was 
room  for  the  operation  of  effective  charity,  induced  her 
to  make  various  attempts  to  alleviate  the  condition  of  this 
most  wretched  woman.  But  all  her  exertions  could  only 
render  Elspat's  means  of  subsistence  less  precarious,  a 
circumstance  which,  though  generally  interesting  even  to 
the  most  wretched  outcasts,  seemed  to  her  a  matter  ol 
total  indifference.  Every  attempt  to  place  any  person  in 
her  hut  to  take  charge  of  her  miscarried,  through  the  ex- 
treme resentment  with  which  she  regarded  all  intrusion 
on  her  solitude,  or  by  the  timidity  of  those  who  had  been 
pitched  upon  to  be  inmates  with  the  terrible  woman  ol 
the  Tree.  At  length,  when  Elspat  became  totally  unable 
(in  appearance  at  least)  to  turn  herself  on  the  wretched 
settle  which  served  her  for  a  couch,  the  humanity  of  Mr 
Tyrie's  successor  sent  two  women  to  attend  upon  the  last 
moments  of  the  solitary,  which  could  not,  it  was  judg- 
ed, be  far  distant,  and  to  avert  the  possibility  that 
she  might  perish  for  want  of  assistance  or  food,  before 
she  sunk  under  the  effects  of  extreme  age,  or  morta, 
malady. 

It  was  on  a  November  evening,  that  the  two  women 
appointed  for  this  melancholy  purpose,  arrived  at  the  mis- 
erable cottage  which  we  have  already  described.  ltd 
wretched  inmate  lay  stretched  upon  the  bed,  and  seemed 
almost  already  a  lifeless  corpse,  save  for  the  wandering 
of  the  fierce  dark  eyes,  which  rolled  in  their  sockets  in  a 


THE    CANOiNGATE.  J  f>3 

manner  terrible  to  look  upon,  and  seemed  to  watch  with 
surprise  and  indignation  the  motions  of  the  slrangers,  as 
persons  whose  presence  was  alike  unexpected  and  unwel- 
come. They  were  frightened  at  her  looks  ;  hut,  assured 
in  each  other's  company,  they  kindled  a  fire,  lighted  u 
candle,  prepared  food,  and  made  other  arrangements  for 
the  discharge  of  the  duty  assigned  them. 

The  assistants  agreed  they  should  watch  the  bedside 
of  the  sick  person  by  turns  ;  but,  about  midnight,  over- 
come by  fatigue,  (for  they  had  walked  far  that  morning,) 
both  of  them  fell  fast  asleep.  When  they  awoke,  which 
was  not  till  after  the  interval  of  some  hours,  the  hut  was 
empty,  and  the  patient  gone.  They  rose  in  terror,  and 
went  to  the  door  of  the  cottage,  which  was  latched  as  rt 
had  been  at  night.  They  looked  out  into  the  darkness, 
and  called  upon  their  charge  by  her  name.  The  night- 
raven  screamed  from  the  old  oak-tree,  the  fox  howled  on 
the  hill,  the  hoarse  waterfall  replied  with  its  echoes,  but 
there  was  no  human  answer.  The  terrified  women  did 
not  dare  to  make  further  search  till  morning  should  ap- 
pear; for  the  sudden  disappearance  of  a  creature  so  frail 
as  Elspat,  together  with  the  wild  tenor  of  her  history,  in- 
timidated them  from  stirring  from  the  hut.  They  remain- 
ed, therefore,  in  dreadful  terror,  sometimes  thinking  they 
heard  her  voice  without,  and  at  other  times,  that  sounds 
of  a  different  description  were  mingled  with  the  mournful 
sigh  of  the  night-breeze,  or  the  dash  of  the  cascade. 
Sometimes,  too,  the  latch  rattled,  as  if  some  frail  and  im- 
potent hand  were  in  vain  attempting  to  lift  it,  and  ever  and 
anon  they  expected  the  entrance  of  their  terrible  patient, 
animated  by  supernatural  strength,  and  in  the  company 
perhaps,  of  some  being  more  dreadful  than  herself.  Morn- 
ing came  at  length.  They  sought  brake,  rock,  and  thicket 
in  vain.  Two  hours  after  daylight,  the  minister  himsell 
appeared,  and  on  the  report  of  the  watchers,  caused  the 
country  to  be  alarmed,  and  a  general  and  exact  search  tc 
bo  made  through  the  whole  neighbourhood  of  the  cottage, 
and  the  oak-tree.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  Elspat  Mac- 
Tavish  was  nevor  found,  whether  dead  or  alive  ;  noi 


164 


CHRONICLES    OF 


could  there  ever  be  traced  the  slightest  crcimslance  to 
indicate  her  fate. 

The  neighbourhood  was  divided  concerning  the  cause 
of  her  disappearance.  The  credulous  thought  that  the 
evil  spirit,  under  whose  influence  she  seemed  to  have  act- 
ed, had  carried  her  away  in  the  body  ;  and  there  are 
many  who  are  still  unwilling,  at  untimely  hours,  to  pass 
the  oak-tree,  beneath  which,  as  they  allege,  she  may  still 
be  seen  seated  according  to  her  wont.  Others  less  su- 
perstitious supposed,  that  had  it  been  possible  to  search 
the  gulf  of  the  Corn  Dhu,  the  profound  deeps  of  the  lake, 
or  the  whelming  eddies  of  the  river,  the  remains  of  El- 
spat  MacTavish  might  have  been  discovered  j  as  nothing 
was  more  natural,  considering  her  state  of  body  and  mind, 
than  that  she  should  have  fallen  in  by  accident,  or  precip- 
itated herself  intentionally  into  one  or  other  of  those  places 
of  sure  destruction.  The  clergyman  entertained  an  opin- 
ion of  his  own.  He  thought,  that  impatient  of  the  watch 
which  was  placed  over  her,  this  unhappy  woman's  instinc* 
had  taught  her,  as  it  directs  various  domestic  animals,  to 
withdraw  herself  from  the  sight  of  her  own  race,  that  the 
death-struggle  might  take  place  in  some  secret  den,  where, 
in  all  probability,  her  mortal  relics  would  never  meet  the 
eyes  of  mortals.  This  species  of  instinctive  feeling  seem- 
ed to  him  of  a  tenor  with  the  whole  course  of  her  unhappy 
»ife,  and  most  likely  to  influence  her,  when  i  rlrevv  to  a 
conclusion. 


END  OF  THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 


THE    CANONGATE.  165 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

MR.  I  ROFTANGRY  INTRODUCES  ANOTHER  TALE. 

Together  both  on  the  high  lawns  appeared. 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn 
They  drove  afield. 

Elegy  on  Lycidas. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  wondered  why  all  the  favourite  oc- 
cupations and  pastimes  of  mankind  go  to  the  disturbance 
of  that  happy  state  of  tranquillity,  that  Otium,  as  Horace 
terms  it,  which  he  says  is  the  object  of  all  men's  prayers, 
whether  preferred  from  sea  or  land  ;  and  that  the  undis- 
turbed repose,  of  which  we  are  so  tenacious,  when  duty 
or  necessity  compels  us  to  abandon  it,  is  precisely  what 
we  long  to  exchange  for  a  state  of  excitation,  as  soon  as  we 
may  prolong  it  at  our  own  pleasure.  Briefly,  you  have 
only  to  say  to  a  man,  "  remain  at  rest,"  and  you  instantly 
inspire  the  love  of  labour.  The  sportsman  toils  like  his 
gamekeeper,  the  master  of  the  pack  takes  as  severe  ex- 
ercise as  his  whipper-in,  the  statesman  or  politician  drudges 
more  than  the  professional  lawyer  ;  and,  to  come  to  my 
own  case,  the  volunteer  author  subjects  himself  to  the 
risk  of  painful  criticism,  and  the  assured  certainty  of 
mental  and  manual  labour,  just  as  completely  as  his  needy 
brother,  whose  necessities  compel  him  to  assume  the  pen. 

These  reflections  have  been  suggested  by  an  annun- 
ciation on  the  part  of  Janet,  "  that  the  little  Gillie-white- 
foot  was  come  from  the  printing  office." 

"  Gillie-blackfoot  you  should  call  him,  Janet,  "  was 
my  response,  "  for  he  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  an 
imp  of  the  devil,  come  to  torment  me  for  copy,  for  so 
the  printers  call  a  supply  of  manuscript  for  the  press." 

"  No\v,  Cot  forgie  your  honour,"  said  Janet ;  "  for  il 
is  nn  like  your  ainsell  to  give  such  names  to  a  fpitherless 
bairu..' 


166 


CHRONICLES    OF 


"  I  have  got  nothing  else  to  give  him,  Janet — he  Liust 
wait  a  little." 

"  Then  I  have  got  some  breakfast  to  give  the  bit  gil- 
lie," said  Janet ;  "  and  he  can  wait  by  the  fireside  in  the 
kitchen,  till  your  honour's  ready  :  and  cood  enough  for 
the  like  of  him,  if  he  was  to  wait  your  honour's  pleasure 
all  day." 

"  But,  Janet,"  said  I  to  my  litt'e  active  superintendent, 
on  her  return  to  the  parlour,  after  having  made  her  hos- 
pitable arrangements,"!  begin  to  find  this  writing  our 
Chronicles  is  rather  more  tiresome  than  I  expected,  for 
here  comes  this  little  fellow  to  ask  for  manuscript — that 
is,  for  something  to  print — and  I  have  got  none  to  give 
dim." 

"  Your  honour  can  be  at  nae  loss  ;  1  have  seen  you 
write  fast  and  fast  enough  ;  and  for  subjects,  you  have 
the  whole  Highlands  to  write  about,  and  I  am  sure  you 
know  a  hundred  tales  better  than  that  about  Harnish 
MacTavish,  for  it  was  but  about  a  young  cateran  and  an 
auld  carline,  when  all's  done  ;  and  if  they  had  burned 
the  rudas  quean  for  a  witch,  I  am  thinking,  may  be,  they 
would  not  have  tyned  their  coals — and  her  to  gar  her 
neer-do-weel  son  shoot  a  gentleman  Cameron  !  I  am  third 
cousin  to  the  Camerons  mysell — my  blood  warms  to  them 
— And  if  you  want  to  write  about  deserters,  I  am  sure 
there  were  deserters  enough  on  the  top  of  Arthur's  $eal. 
when  the  Mac  Raas  broke  out,  and  on  that  woful  day 
beside  Leith  Pier — Ohonari !" — 

Here  Janet  began  to  weep,  and  to  wipe  her  eyes  w;th 
ner  apron.  For  my  part,  the  idea  1  wanted  was  supplied, 
but  1  hesitated  to  make  use  of  it.  Topics,  like  times,  are 
apt  to  become  common  by  frequent  use.  It  is  only  an 
ass  like  Justice  Shallow,  who  would  pitch  upon  the  over- 
scutched  tunes,  which  the  carmen  whistled,  and  try  to 
oass  them  off  as  his  fancies  and  his  good-nights.  Now, 
the  Highlands,  though  formerly  a  rich  mine  for  original 
matter,  are, as  rny  friend  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  warned  me, 
in  some  degree  worn  out  by  the  incessant  labour  of  mod- 
ern romance-s  and  novelists,  who,  finding  in  those  remote 


THE    CANONGATE.  167 

regions  primitive  habits  and  manners,  have  vainly  imag- 
ined that  the  public  can  never  tire  of  them  ;  and  so  kilt- 
ed Highlanders  are  to  be  found  as  frequently,  and  nearly 
of  as  genuine  descent,  on  the  shelves  of  a  circulating  li- 
brary, as  at  a  Caledonian  ball.     Much  might  have  been 
made  at  an  earlier  time  out  of  the  history  of  a  Highland 
regiment,  and  the  singular  revolution  of  ideas  which  must 
have  taken  place  in  the  minds  of  those  who  composed  it, 
when  exchanging  their  native  hills  for  the   battle-fields 
of  the  Continent,  and  their  simple,  and  sometimes  indo- 
lent domestic  habits,  for  the  regular  exertions  demanded 
by  modern    discipline.     But   the    market  is    forestalled. 
There  is  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  has  drawn  the  manners, 
customs,  and  superstitions  of  the  mountains  in  their  natu- 
ral unsophisticated  state;31  and  my  friend, General  Stewart 
of  Garth,32  in  giving  the  real  history  of  the  Highland  regi- 
ments, has  rendered  any  attempt  to  fill  up  the  sketch  with 
fancy-colouring  extremely  rash  and  precarious.      Yet  1, 
too,   have   still  a  lingering   fancy   to   add  a  stone   to  the 
cairn  ;    and   without  calling  in  imagination  to  aid  the  im- 
pressions of  juvenile   recollection,  I  may  just  attempt  to 
embody  one  or  two  scenes  illustrative  of  the  Highland 
character,  and  which  belong  peculiarly  to  the  Chronicles 
of  the  Canongate,  to  the  greyheaded  eld  of  whom  they 
are  as  familiar  as  to  Chrystal  Croftangry.     Yet  I  will  not 
gojback  to  the  days  of  clanship  and  claymores.       Have 
at  you,  gentle  reader,  with  a  tale  of  Two  Drovers.     An 
oyster  may  be  crossed  in  love,  says  the  gentle  Tilburina 
— and  a  drover  may  be  touched  on  a  point  of  aonour,  says 
the  Chronicler  of  the  Canongate. 


68  CHRONICLES    OF 


2Ttoo 


IT  was  the  day  after  the  Doune  Fair  when  my  story 
commences.  It  had  been  a  brisk  market,  several  dealers 
had  attended  from  the  northern  and  midland  counties  in 
England,  and  the  English  money  had  flown  so  merrily 
about  as  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  Highland  farmers. 
Many  large  droves  were  about  to  set  off  for  England, 
under  the  protection  of  their  owners,  or  of  the  topsmen 
whom  they  employed  in  the  tedious,  laborious,  and  re- 
sponsible office  of  driving  the  cattle  for  many  hundred 
miles,  from  the  market  where  they  had  been  purchased  to 
the  fields  or  farm-yards  where  they  were  to  be  fattened 
for  the  shambles. 

The  Highlanders  in  particular  are  masters  of  this  diffi- 
cult trade  of  driving,  which  seems  to  suit  them  as  well  as 
the  trade  of  war.  It  affords  exercise  for  all  their  habits 
of  patient  endurance  and  active  exertion.  They  are  re- 
quired to  know  perfectly  the  drove-roads,  which  lie  over 
the  wildest  tracts  of  the  country,  and  to  avoid  as  much 
as  possible  the  highways,  which  distress  the  feet  of  the 
bullocks,  and  the  turnpikes,  which  annoy  the  spirit  of  the 
drover  ;  whereas  on  the  broad  green  or  grey  track,  which 
leads  across  the  pathless  moor,  the  herd  not  only  move 
at  ease  and  without  taxation,  but,  if  they  mind  their  busi- 
ness, may  pick  up  a  mouthful  of  food  by  the  way.  At 
light,  the  drovers  usually  sleep  along  with  their  cattle, 
let  the  weather  be  what  it  will  ;  and  many  of  these  hardy 
men  do  not  once  rest  under  a  roof  during  a  journey  on 
foot  from  Lochaberto  Lincolnshire.  They  are  paid  very 
highly,  for  the  trust  reposed  is  of  the  last  importance,  as 
t  depends  on  their  prudence,  vigilance,  and  honesty, 
whether  the  cattle  reach  the  final  market  in  good  order, 


THE    CANO.NGATE. 

and  afford  a  profit  to  the  grazier.  But  as  they  maintain 
themselves  at  their  own  expense,  they  are  especially 
economical  in  that  particular.  At  the  period  we  speak 
of,  a  Highland  drover  was  victualled  for  his  long  and 
toilsome  journey  with  a  few  handfuls  of  oatmeal  and  two 
or  three  onions,  renewed  from  time  to  time,  and  a  ram's 
horn  filled  with  whisky,  which  he  used  regularly,  but 
sparingly,  every  night  and  morning.  His  dirk,  or  skene- 
dhit,  (i.  e.  black-knife,)  so  worn  as  to  be  concealed  be- 
neath the  arm,  or  by  the  folds  of  the  plaid,  was  his  only 
weapon,  excepting  the  cudgel  with  which  he  directed  the 
movements  of  the  cattle.  A  Highlander  was  never  so 
happy  as  on  these  occasions.  There  was  a  variety  in  the 
whole  journey,  which  exercised  the  Celt's  natural  curi- 
osity and  love  of  motion  ;  there  were  the  constant  change 
of  place  and  scene,  the  petty  adventures  incidental  to 
the  traffic,  and  the  intercourse  with  the  various  farmers, 
graziers,  and  traders,  intermingled  with  occasional  merry- 
makings, not  the  less  acceptable  to  Donald  that  they  were 
void  of  expense  ; — and  there  was  the  consciousness  ot 
superior  skill  ;  for  the  Highlander,  a  child  amongst  flocks, 
is  a  prince  amongst  herds,  and  his  natural  habits  induce 
him  to  disdain  the  shepherd's  slothful  life,  so  that  he  feels 
himself  nowhere  more  at  borne  than  when  following  a 
gallant  drove  of  his  country  cattle  in  the  character  ol 
their  guardian. 

Of  the  number  who  left  Doune  in  the  morning,  and 
with  the  purpose  we  have  described,  not  a  Glunamie  01 
them  all  cocked  his  bonnet  more  briskly,  or  gartered  his 
tartan  hose  under  knee  over  a  pair  of  more  promising 
spiogs,  (legs,)  than  did  Robin  Oig  M'Combich,  called 
familiarly  Robin  Oig,  that  is  Young,  or  the  Lesser,  Robin. 
Though  small  of  stature,  as  the  epithet  Oig  jmplies,  and 
not  very  strongly  limbed,  he  was  as  light  and  alert  as  one 
ot  the  deer  of  his  mountains.  He  had  an  elasticity  01 
step,  which,  in  the  course  of  a  long  march,  made  many 
a  stout  fellow  envy  him  ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
busked  his  plaid  and  adjustei  his  bonnet,  argued  a  con- 
VOL.  i 


170  CHRONICLES    OF 

sciotisness  that  so  smart  a  John  Highlandman  as  himself 
would  not  pass  unnoticed  among  the  Lowland  lasses. 
The  ruddy  cheek,  red  lips,  and  white  teeth,  set  off  a 
countenance  which  had  gained  by  exposure  to  the  weath- 
er a  healthful  and  hardy  rather  than  a  rugged  hue.  Jf 
Robin  Oig  did  not  laugh,  or  even  smile  frequently,  as 
indeed  is  not  the  practice  among  his  countrymen,  his 
bright  eyes  usually  gleamed  from  under  his  bonnet  with 
an  expression  of  cheerfulness  ready  to  be  turned  into 
mirth. 

The  departure  of  Robin  Oig  was  an  incident  in  the 
little  town,  in  and  near  which  he  had  many  friends  male 
and  female.  He  was  a  topping  person  in  his  way,  trans- 
acted considerable  business  on  his  own  behalf,  and  was 
intrusted  by  the  best  farmers  in  the  Highlands,  in  prefer- 
ence to  any  other  drover  in  that  district.  He  might  have 
increased  his  business  to  any  extent  had  he  condescended 
to  manage  it  by  deputy  ;  but  except  a  lad  or  two,  sister's 
sons  of  his  own,  Robin  rejected  the  idea  of  assistance, 
conscious,  perhaps,  how  much  his  reputation  depended 
upon  his  attending  in  person  to  the  practical  discharge  of 
his  duty  in  every  instance.  He  remained,  therefore,  con- 
tented with  the  highest  premium  given  to  persons  of  his 
description,  and  comforted  himself  with  the  hopes  that  a 
fswj  journeys  to  England  might  enable  him  to  conduct 
business  on  his  own  account,  in  a  manner  becoming  his 
birth.  For  Robin  Oig's  father,  Lachlan  M'Combich, 
(or,  son  of  my  friend,  his  actual  clan-surname  being 
M'Gregor,)  had  been  so  called  by  the  celebrated  Rob 
Roy,  because  of  the  particular  friendship  which  had  sub- 
sisted between  the  grandsire  of  Robin  and  that  reviowned 
cateran.  Some  people  even  say,  that  Robin  Oig  derived 
his  Christian  name  from  one,  as  renowned  in  the  wilds 
of  Lochlomond,  as  ever  was  his  namesake  Robin  Hood, 
in  the  precincts  of  merry  Sherwood.  "  Of  such  ances- 
try," as  James  Bcswell  says,  "  who  would  not  be  proud  ?' 
Robin  Oig  was  proud  accordingly;  but  his  frequent  visits 
to  England  and  to  the  Lowlands  had  given  him  tact 
enough  to  know  that  pretensions,  which  still  gave  him  a 


THE    CANOIfGATE.  171 

little  right  to  distinction  in  his  own  lonely  glen,  might  be 
bqfh  obnoxious  and  ridiculous  if  preferred  elsewhere. 
The  pride  of  birth,  therefore,  was  like  the  miser's  treas- 
ure the  secret  subject  of  his  contemplation,  but  never 
exhibited  to  strangers  as  a  subject  of  boasting. 

Many  were  the  words  of  gratulation  and  good-luck 
which  were  bestowed  on  Robin  Gig.  The  judges  com- 
mended his  drove,  especially  Robin's  own  property,  which 
were  the  best  of  them.  Some  thrast  out  their  snuff- 
mulls  for  the  parting  pinch — others  tendered  the  </oc//- 
an-dorrach,  or  parting  cup.  All  cried — "  Good-luck 
travel  out  with  you  and  come  home  with  you. —  Give  you 
luck  in  the  Saxon  market — brave  notes  in  the  leabhor-dhn, 
(black  pocket-book,)  and  plenty  of  English  gold  in  the 
sporran  (pouch  of  goatskin.") 

The  bonny  lasses  made  their  adieus  more  modestly, 
and  more  than  one,  it  was  said,  would  have  given  her  best 
brooch,  to  be  certain  that  it  was  upon  her  that  his  eye  last 
rested  as  he  turned  towards  the  road. 

Robin  Oig  had  just  given  the  preliminary  "  Hoo-hoo  /" 
to  urge  forward  the  loiterers  of  the  drove,  when  there  was 
a  cry  behind  him. 

"  Stay,  Robin — bide  a  blink.  Here  is  Janet  of  Tom- 
ahourich — auld  Janet,  your  father's  sister." 

"  Plague  on  her,  for  an  auld  Highland  witch  and  spae- 
wife,"  said  a  farmer  from  the  Carse  of  Stirling ;  "  she'll 
cast  some  of  her  cantrips  on  the  cattle." 

"  She  canna  do  that,"  said  another  sapient  of  the  same 
piofession — '  Robin  Oig  is  no  the  lad  to  leave  any  of 
them,  without  tying  Saint  Mungo's  knot  on  their  tails,  and 
that  will  put  to  her  speed  the  best  witch  that  ever  flew 
over  Dimayet  upon  a  broomstick." 

It  may  not  be  indifferent  to  the  reader  to  know,  that 
the  Highland  cattle  are  peculiarly  liable  to  be  taken,  or 
infected,  by  spells  and  witchcraft,  which  judicious  people 
guard  agninst  by  knitting  knots  of  peculiar  complexity  on 
the  tuft  of  hair  which  terminates  the  animal's  tail. 

But  :he  old  woman  who  was  the  object  of  the  farmer's 
suspicion  seemed  only  busied  about  the  drover,  without 


172  CIIUONICLES    OF 

paying  any  attention  to  the  drove.  Robin,  on  the  con- 
trary, appeared  rather  impatient  of  her  presence. 

"  What  auld-world  fancy,"  he  said,  "  has  brought  you 
so  early  from  the  ingle-side  this  morning,  Muhme  9  I  am 
sure  I  bid  you  good  even,  and  had  your  God-speed,  last 
night." 

"  And  left  me  more  siller  than  the  useless  old  woman 
will  use  till  you  come  back  again,  bird  of  my  bosom," 
said  the  sibyl.  "  But  it  is  little  I  would  care  for  the  food 
that  nourishes  me,  or  the  fire  that  warms  me,  or  for  God's 
blessed  sun  itself,  if  aught  but  weal  should  happen  to  the 
grandson  of  my  father.  So  let  me  walk  the  dcasil  round 
you,  that  you  may  go  safe  out  into  the  far  foreign  land, 
and  corne  safe  home." 

Robin  Oig  stopped,  half  embarrassed,  half  laughing, 
and  signing  to  those  around  that  he  only  complied  with 
the  old  woman  to  soothe  her  humour.  In  the  meantime, 
she  traced  around  him,  with  wavering  steps,  the  propitia- 
tion, which  some  have  thought  has  been  derived  from  the 
Druidical  mythology.  It  consists,  as  is  well  known,  in 
the  person  who  makes  the  deasil,  walking  three  times 
round  the  person  who  is  the  object  of  the  ceremony, 
taking  care  to  move  according  to  the  course  of  the  sun. 
At  once,  however,  she  stopped  short,  and  exclaimed,  in 
a  voice  of  alarm  and  horror,  "  Grandson  of  my  father, 
there  is  blood  on  your  hand." 

"  Hush,  for  God's  sake,  aunt,"  said  Robin  Oig;  "  you 
will  bring  more  trouble  on  yourself  with  this  Taishataragh 
(second  sight)  than  you  will  be  able  to  get  out  of  for  many 
a  day." 

The  old  woman  only  repeated,  with  a  ghastly  look, 
"  There  is  blood  on  your  hand,  and  it  is  English  blood. 
The  blood  of  the  Gael  is  richer  and  redder.  Let  us  see 
_[jet  us " 

Ere  Robin  Oig  could  prevent  her,  which,  indeed,  could 
jrily  have  been  by  positive  violence,  so  hasty  and  peremp- 
tory were  her  proceedings,  she  had  drawn  from  his  side 
the  dirk  which  lodged  in  the  folds  of  his  plaid,  and  held 
it  up,  exclaiming,  although  the  weapon  gleamed  clear  and 


THE    CANONGATE.  172 

bright  in  the  sun,  '•'  Blood,  blood — Saxon  b)ood  again 
Robin  Oig  M'Combich,  go  not  this  day  to  England  !" 

"  Prutt,  trutt,"  answered  Robin  Oig,  "  that  will  never 
do  neither — it  would  be  next  thing  to  running  the  country 
For  shame,  Muhme — give  me  the  dirk.  You  cannot  tell 
by  the  colour  the  difference  betwixt  the  blood  of  a  black 
bullock  and  a  white  one,  and  you  speak  of  knowing  Saxon 
from  Gaelic  blood.  All  men  have  their  blood  from  Adam, 
Muhme.  Give  me  my  skene-dhu,  and  let  me  go  on  my 
road.  I  should  have  been  half  way  to  Stirling  brig  by 
this  time — Give  me  my  dirk,  and  let  me  go." 

"  Never  will  I  give  it  to  you,"  said  the  old  woman — 
"  Never  will  1  quit  my  hold  on  your  plaid,  unless  you 
promise  me  not  to  wear  that  unhappy  weapon." 

The  women  around  him  urged  him  also,  saying  few  oi 
his  aunt's  words  fell  to  the  ground  ;  and  as  the  Lowland 
farmers  continued  to  look  moodily  on  the  scene,  Robin 
Oig  determined  to  close  it  at  any  sacrifice. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  young  drover,  giving  the  scab- 
bard of  the  weapon  to  Hugh  Morrison,  "  you  Lowlanders 
care  nothing  for  these  freats.  Keep  my  dirk  for  me.  I 
cannot  give  it  you,  because  it  was  my  father's  ;  but  your 
drove  follows  ours,  and  I  am  content  it  should  be  in  your 
keeping,  not  in  mine. — Will  this  do,  Muhme  9" 

"  It  must,"  said  the  old  woman — "  that  is,  if  the 
Lowlander  is  mad  enough  to  carry  the  knife." 

The  strong  westlandman  laughed  aloud. 

"  Goodwife,"  said  he,  "  I  am  Hugh  Morrison  from 
Glenae,  come  of  the  Manly  Morrisons  of  auld  lang  syne, 
that  never  took  short  weapon  against  a  man  in  their  lives. 
And  neither  needed  they  :  They  had  their  broadswords, 
and  I  have  this  bit  supple  (showing  a  formidable  cudgel) 
— for  dirking  ower  the  board,  I  leave  that  to  John  High 
landman. — Ye  needna  snort,  none  of  you  Highlanders 
and  you  in  especial,  Robin.  I'll  keep  the  bit  knife,  il 
you  are  feared  for  the  auld  spaewife's  tale,  and  give  il 
back  to  you  whenever  }ou  want  il.M 

VOL.     I. 


174  CHRONICLES    OF 

Robin  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  some  part  ol 
Hugh  Morrison's  speech  ;  but  he  had  learned  in  hit 
travels  more  patience  than  belonged  to  his  Highland  con- 
stitution originally,  and  he  accepted  the  service  of  the 
descendant  of  the  Manly  Morrisons,  without  finding  fault 
with  the  rather  depreciating  manner  in  which  it  was 
offered. 

"  If  he  had  not  had  his  morning  in  his  head,  and  been 
but  a  Dumfries-shire  hog  into  the  boot,  he  would  have 
spoken  more  like  a  gentleman.  But  you  cannot  have 
more  of  a  sow  than  a  grumph.  It's  shame  my  father's 
knife  should  ever  slash  a  haggis  for  the  like  of  him." 

Thus  saying,  (but  saying  it  in  Gaelic,)  Robin  drove  on 
his  cattle,  and  waved  farewell  to  all  behind  him.  He  was 
in  the  greater  haste,  because  he  expected  to  join  at  Fal- 
kirk  a  comrade  and  brother  in  profession,  with  whom  he 
proposed  to  travel  in  company. 

Robin  Oig's  chosen  friend  was  a  young  Englishman, 
Harry  Wakefield  by  name,  well  known  at  every  northern 
market,  and  in  his  way  as  much  famed  and  honoured  as 
our  Highland  driver  of  bullocks.  He  was  nearly  six  feet 
high,  gallantly  formed  to  keep  the  rounds  at  Smithfield, 
or  maintain  the  ring  at  a  wrestling  match  ;  and  although  he 
might  have  been  overmatched,  perhaps,  among  the  regular 
professors  of  the  Fancy,  yet,  as  a  yokel  or  rustic,  or  a  chance 
customer,  he  was  able  to  give  a  bellyful  to  any  amateur  of 
the  pugilistic  art.  Doncaster  races  saw  him  in  his  glory, 
betting  his  guinea,  and  generally  successfully  ;  nor  was 
there  a  main  fought  in  Yorkshire,  the  feeders  being  per- 
sons of  celebrity,  at  which  he  was  not  to  be  seen,  if  busi- 
ness permitted.  But  though  a  sprack  lad,  and  fond  of 
pleasure  and  its  haunts,  Harry  Wakefield  was  steady,  and 
not  the  cautious  Robin  Oig  M'Combich  himself  was  more 
attentive  to  the  main  chance.  His  holidays  were  holi- 
days indeed  ;  but  his  days  of  work  were  dedicated  to 
steady  and  persevering  labour.  In  countenance  and  tern 
per,  Wakefield  was  the  model  of  Old  England's  merry 
yeomen,  whose  clothyard  shafts,  in  so  many  hundred  bat- 
les.  asserted  her  superiority  over  the  nations,  and  whose 


THE    CANONGATE.  175 

good  sabrei,  in  our  own  time,  are  her  cheapest  and  most 
assured  defence.  His  mirth  was  readily  excited  ;  for 
strong  in  limb  and  constitution,  and  fortunate  in  circurn 
stances,  he  was  disposed  to  be  pleased  with  everything 
about  him  ;  and  such  difficulties  as  he  might  occasionally 
encounter,  were,  to  a  man  of  his  energy,  rather  matter  01 
amusement  than  serious  annoyance.  With  all  the  merits 
of  a  sanguine  temper,  our  young  English  drover  was  not 
without  his  defects.  He  was  irascible,  sometimes  to 
the  verge  of  being  quarrelsome  ;  and  perhaps  not  the  less 
inclined  to  bring  his  disputes  to  a  pugilistic  decision,  be- 
cause he  found  few  antagonists  able  to  stand  up  to  him  in 
the  boxing  ring. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  Henry  Wakefield  and  Robin 
Oig  first  became  intimates  ;  but  it  is  certain  a  close  ac- 
quaintance had  taken  place  betwixt  them,  although  they 
had  apparently  few  common  subjectsof  conversation  or  ol 
interest,  so  soon  as  their  talk  ceased  to  be  of  bullocks. 
Robin  Oig,  indeed,  spoke  the  English  language  rather 
imperfectly  upon  any  other  topics  but  stots  and  kyloes,  and 
Harry  Wakefield  could  never  bring  his  broad  Yorkshire 
tongue  to  utter  a  single  word  of  Gaelic.  It  was  in  vain 
Robin  spent  a  whole  morning,  during  a  walk  over  Minch- 
JMoor,  in  attempting  to  teach  his  companion  to  utter,  with 
true  precision,  the  shibboleth  Llhu,  which  is  the  Gaelic 
for  a  calf.  From  Traquair  to  Murder-cairn,  the  hill  rung 
with  the  discordant  attempts  of  the  Saxon  upon  the  un- 
manageable monosyllable,  and  the  heartfelt  laugh  which 
followed  every  failure.  They  had,  however,  better  modes 
of  awakening  the  echoes  ;  for  Wakefield  could  sing  many 
a  ditty  to  the  praise  of  Moll,  Susan,  and  Cicely,  and  Ro- 
bin Oig  had  a  particular  gift  at  whistling  interminable  pi- 
brochs  through  all  their  involutions,  and  what  was  more 
Rgreeable  to  his  companion's  southern  ear,  knew  many  ot 
she  northern  airs,  both  lively  and  pathetic,  to  which  Wake- 
^eld  learned  to  pipe  a  bass.  Thus,  though  Robin  could 
hardly  have  comprehended  his  companion's  stories  about 
horse-racing,  cock-fighting,  or  fox-hunting,  and  although 
Ins  own  legends  of  clan-fights  and  creaghs  varied  with 


176  CHRONICLES    OF 

talk  of  Highlai  d  goblins  and  fairy  folk,  would  have  beeij 
caviare  to  iiis  companion,  they  contrived  nevertheless  M 
find  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  each  other's  company,  which 
had  for  three  years  back  induced  them  to  join  company 
and  travel  together,  when  the  direction  of  their  journey 
permitted.  Each,  indeed,  found  his  advantage  in  this 
companionship  ;  for  where  could  the  Englishman  have 
found  a  guide  through  the  Western  Highlands  like  Robin 
Oig  M'Combich  *?  and  when  they  were  on  what  Harry 
called  the  right  side  of  the  Border,  his  patronage,  which 
was  extensive,  and  his  purse,  which  was  heavy,  were  at 
all  times  at  the  service  of  his  Highland  friend,  and  on 
many  occasions  his  liberality  did  him  genuine  yeomanN 
service. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Were  ever  two  such  loving  friends  ! — 

How  could  they  disagree  ? 
O  thus  it  was,  he  loved  him  dear, 

And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 
And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 

He  did  resolve  to  fight  him. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 

THE  pair  of  friends  had  traversed  with  their  usual  cor- 
diality the  grassy  wilds  of  Liddesdale,  and  crossed  the 
opposite  part  of  Cumberland,  emphatically  called  The 
Waste.  In  these  solitary  regions,  the  cattle  under  the 
charge  of  our  drovers  derived  their  subsistence  chiefly,  bj 
picking  their  food  as  thej  went  along  the  drove-road,  01 
sometimes  by  the  tempting  opportunity  of  a  start  and 
vwerloup,  or  invasion  of  the  neighbouring  pasture,  where 
an  occasion  presented  itself.  But  now  the  scene  chang- 
ed before  them  ;  they  were  descending  towards  a  fertile 
and  enclosed  country,  where  no  such  liberties  could  DP 


THE    CANOA'GATE.  177 

(aken  with  impunity,  or  without  a  previous  arrangement 
and  bargain  with  the  possessors  of  the  ground.  This  was 
more  especially  the  case,  as  a  great  northern  fair  was  upon 
the  eve  of  taking  place,  where  both  the  Scotch  and  Eng- 
lish drover  expected  to  dispose  of  a  part  ol  their  cattle, 
which  it  was  desirable  to  produce  in  the  market,  rested 
and  in  good  order.  Fields  were  therefore  difficult  to  be 
obtained,  and  only  upon  high  terms.  This  necessity  oc- 
casioned a  temporary  separation  betwixt  the  two  friends, 
who  went  to  bargain,  each  as  he  could,  for  the  separate 
accommodation  of  his  herd.  Unhappily  it  chanced  that 
both  of  them,  unknown  to  each  other,  thought  of  bargain- 
ing for  the  ground  they  wanted  on  the  property  of  a  coun- 
try gentleman  of  some  fortune,  whose  estate  lay  in  the 
neighbourhood.  The  English  drover  applied  to  the  bailiff 
on  the  property,  who  was  known  to  him.  It  chanced  that 
the  Cumbrian  Squire,  who  had  entertained  some  suspi- 
cions of  his  manager's  honesty,  was  taking  occasional 
measures  to  ascertain  how  far  they  were  well  founded,  and 
had  desired  that  any  inquiries  about  his  enclosures,  with 
a  view  to  occupy  them  for  a  temporary  purpose,  should  be 
referred  to  himself.  As,  however,  Mr.  Ireby  had  gone  the 
day  before  upon  a  journey  of  some  miles'  distance  to  the 
northward,  the  bailiff  chose  to  consider  the  check  upon  his 
full  powers  as  for  the  time  removed,  and  concluded  that 
ne  should  best  consult  his  master's  interest,  and  perhaps 
his  own,  in  making  an  agreement  with  Harry  Wakefield. 
Meanwhile,  ignorant  of  what  his  comrade  was  doing, 
Robin  Oig,  on  his  side,  chanced  to  be  overtaken  by  a 
good-looking  smart  little  man  upon  a  pony,  most  know- 
ingly hogged  and  cropped,  as  was  then  the  fashion,  the 
rider  wearing  tight  leather  breeches,  and  long-necked 
bright  spurs.  This  cavalier  asked  one  or  two  pertinent 
questions  about  markets  and  the  price  of  stock.  Sc 
Robin,  seeing  him  a  well-judging  civil  gentleman,  took 
the  freedom  to  ask  him  whether  he  could  let  him  know 
il  there  was  any  grass-land  to  be  let  in  that  neighbour- 
hood, for  the  temporary  accommodation  of  his  drove 
He  could  not  have  out  the  question  to  more  willing;  e^rs 
535 


178 


CHRONICLES    OF 


The  gentleman  of  the  buckskins  was  the  proprietor,  with 
whose  bailiff  Harry  Wakefield  had  dealt,  or  was  in  the 
ict  of  dealing. 

*_? 

"  Thou  art  in  good  luck,  my  cann)  Scot,"  said  Mr 
L-eby,  "  to  have  spoken  to  me,  for  I  see  thy  cattle  have 
done  their  day's  work,  and  I  have  at  my  disposal  the  only 
6eld  within  three  miles  that  is  to  be  let  in  these  parts." 

"  The  drove  can  pe  gang  two,  three,  four  miles  very 
pratty  weel  indeed — "  said  the  cautious  Highlander ; 
"  put  what  would  his  honour  pe  axing  for  the  peasts  pe 
the  head,  if  she  was  to  tak  the  park  for  twa  or  three 
days  ?" 

"  We  wont  differ,  Sawney,  if  you  let  me  have  six  slots 
for  winterers,  in  the  way  of  reason." 

"  Aud  which  peasts  wad  your  honour  pe  for  having  V 

"  Why — let  me  see — the  two  black — the  dun  one — 
yon  doddy — him  with  the  twisted  horn — the  brockit — 
How  much  by  the  head  ?" 

"  Ah,"  said  Robin,  "  your  honour  is  a  shudge — a  real 
sliudge — I  couldna  have  set  off  the  pest  six  peasts  petter 
mysell,  me  that  ken  them  as  if  they  were  my  pairns,  puir 
things." 

"  Well,  how  much  per  bead,  Sawney,"  continued  Mr 
Ireby. 

"  It  was  high  markets  at  Doune  and  Falkirk,"  answer- 
ed Robin. 

And  thus  the  conversation  proceeded,  until  they  had 
agreed  on  the  prix  juste  for  the  bullocks,  the  Squire 
throwing  in  the  temporary  accommodation  of  the  enclos- 
ure for  the  cattle  into  the  boot,  and  Robin  making,  as  he 
thought,  a  very  good  bargain,  provided  the  grass  was  but 
tolerable.  The  Squire  walked  his  pony  alongside  of  the 
drove,  partly  to  show  him  the  way,  and  see  him  put  into 
possession  of  the  Geld,  and  partly  to  learn  the  latest 
news  of  the  northern  markets 

They  arrived  at  the  6eld,  and  the  pasture  seemed  ex- 
cellent. But  what  was  their  surprise  when  they  saw  the 
bailiff  quietly  inducting  the  cattle  of  Harry  Wakefield  intc 
the  grassy  Gosben  which  had  just  been  assigned  to  those 


IlIE    CANOXGATE.  1TC 

of  Robin  Oig  M'Combich  by  the  proprictoi  himself 
Squire  Ireby  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  dashed  up  to  his  ser 
vant,  and  learning  what  had  passed  between  the  parties, 
briefly  informed  the  English  drover  that  his  bailiff"  had  let 
the  ground  without  his  authority,  and  that  he  might  seek 
grass  for  his  cattle  wherever  he  would,  since  he  was  to  get 
none  there.  At  the  same  time  he  rebuked  his  servant 
severely  for  having  transgressed  his  commands,  and  or- 
dered him  instantly  to  assist  in  ejecting  the  hungry  and 
weary  cattle  of  Harry  Wakefield,  which  were  just  begin- 
ning to  enjoy  a  meal  of  unusual  plenty,  and  to  introduce 
those  of  his  comrade,  whom  the  English  drover  now  be- 
gaa  to  consider  as  a  rival. 

The  feelings  which  arose  in  Wakefield's  mind  would 
have  induced  him  to  resist  Mr.  Ireby's  decision  ;  but  every 
Englishman  has  a  tolerably  accurate  sense  of  law  and 
justice,  and  John  Fleecebumpkin,  the  bailiff,  having  ac- 
knowledged that  he  had  exceeded  his  commission,  Wake- 
field  saw  nothing  else  for  it  than  to  collect  his  hungry  and 
disappointed  charge,  and  drive  them  on  to  seek  quarters 
elsewhere.  Robin  Oig  saw  what  had  happened  with  re- 
gret, and  hastened  to  offer  to  his  English  friend  to  share 
with  him  the  disputed  possession.  But  Wakefield's  pride 
was  severely  hurt,  and  he  answered  disdainfully,  "  Take 
it  all,  man — take  it  all — never  make  two  bites  of  a  cherry 
— thou  canst  talk  over  the  gentry,  and  blear  a  plain  man's 
eye — Out  upon  you,  man — I  would  not  kiss  any  man's 
dirty  latchets  for  leave  to  bake  in  his  oven."  • 

Robin  Oig,  sorry  but  not  surprised  at  his  comrade's 
displeasure,  hastened  to  entreat  his  friend  to  wait  but  an 
hour  till  he  bad  gone  to  the  Squire's  house  to  receive  pay- 
ment for  the  cattle  he  had  sold,  and  he  would  come  back 
and  help  him  to  drive  the  cattle  into  some  convenient 
place  of  rest,  and  explain  to  him  the  whole  mistake  thej 
bad  both  of  them  fallen  into.  But  the  Englishman  con- 
tinued indignant  :  "  Thou  hast  been  selling,  hast  thou  ? 
\y,  ay — thou  is  a  cunning  lad  for  kenning  the  hours  o 
bargaining.  Go  to  the  devil  with  thyself,  for  I  will  ne'ej 


ISO  CHROiMCIiES    OF 

see  thy  fause  loon's  visage  again — ihou  should  be  ashamed 
lo  look  me  in  the  face." 

"  1  am  ashamed  to  look  no  man  in  the  face,"  sait 
Robin  Oig,  something  moved  ;  "  and,  moreover,  I  will 
look  you  in  the  face  this  blessed  day,  if  you  will  bide  at 
the  Clachan  down  yonder." 

';  Mayhap  you  had  as  well  keep  away,"  said  his  com- 
rade ;  and  turning  his  back  on  his  former  friend,  he  col- 
lected his  unwilling  associates,  assisted  by  the  bailiff,  who 
took  some  real  and  some  affected  interest  in  seeing  Wake- 
field  accommodated. 

After  spending  some  time  in  negotiating  with  more  than 
one  of  the  neighbouring  farmers,  who  could  not,  or  would 
not,  afford  the  accommodation  desired,  Henry  Wakefield 
at  last,  and  in  his  necessity,  accomplished  his  point  by 
means  of  the  landlord  of  the  alehouse  at  which  Robin  Oig 
and  he  had  agreed  to  pass  the  night,  when  they  first  sep- 
arated from  each  other.  Mine  host  was  content  to  let 
him  turn  his  cattle  on  a  piece  of  barren  moor,  at  a  price 
little  less  than  the  bailiff  had  asked  for  the  disputed  en- 
closure ;  and  the  wretchedness  of  the  pasture,  as  well  as 
the  price  paid  for  it,  were  set  down  as  exaggerations  of 
the  breach  of  faith  and  friendship  of  his  Scottish  crony. 
This  turn  of  Wakefield's  passions  was  encouraged  by  the 
bailiff,  (who  had  his  own  reasons  for  being  offended 
against  poor  Robin,  as  having  been  the  unwitting  cause 
of  his  falling  into  disgrace  with  his  master,)  as  well  as  by 
the  innkeeper,  and  two  or  three  chance  guests,  who  stimu- 
lated the  drover  in  his  resentment  against  his  quondam  as- 
sociate,— some  from  the  ancient  grudge  against  the  Scots 
which,  when  it  exists  anywhere,  is  to  be  found  lurking  in 
the  Border  counties,  and  some  from  the  general  love  of 
mischief,  which  characterizes  mankind  in  all  ranks  of  life, 
to  the  honour  of  Adam's  children  be  it  spoken.  Good 
John  Barleycorn  also,  who  always  heightens  and  exagge- 
rates the  prevailing  passions,  be  they  angry  or  kindly,  was 
not  wanting  in  his  offices  on  this  occasion  ;  and  confusion 
to  false  friends  and  hard  masters,  was  pledged  in  rnora 
than  one  tankard. 


THE    CANONGATE  18J 

Tn  the  meanwhile  Mr.  Ireby  found  some  amusement 
in  detaining  the  northern  drover  at  his  ancient  hall.  He 
caused  a  cold  round  of  beef  to  be  placed  before  the  Scot 
in  the  butler's  pantry,  together  with  a  foaming  tankard  ol 
home-brewed,  and  took  pleasure  in  seeing  the  hearty  ap- 
petite with  which  these  unwonted  edibles  were  discussed 
by  Robin  Oig  M*Combicb.  The  Squire  himself  lighting 
his  pipe,  compounded  between  his  patrician  dignity  and 
his  love  of  agricultural  gossip,  by  walking  up  and  down 
while  he  conversed  with  his  guest. 

"  I  passed  another  drove,"  said  the  Squire,  "  with  one 
of  your  countrymen  behind  them — they  were  something 
less  beasts  than  your  drove,  doddies  most  of  them — a  big 
man  was  with  them — none  of  your  kilts  though,  but  a  de- 
cent pair  of  breeches — D'ye  know  who  he  may  be  9" 

"  Hout  ay — that  might,  coidd,  and  would  pe  Hughie 
Morrison — I  didna  think  he  could  hae  peen  sae  weel  up. 
He  has  made  a  day  on  us ;  put  his  Argyleshires  will  have 
wearied  shanks.  How  far  was  he  pehind  ?" 

"  1  think  about  six  or  seven  miles,"  answered  the 
Squire,  "  for  I  passed  them  at  the  Christenbury  Cragg, 
and  I  overtook  you  at  the  Hollan  Bush.  If  his  beasts  be 
leg-weary,  he  will  be  maybe  selling  bargains." 

"  Na;  na,  Hughie  Morrison  is  no  the  man  for  pargains 
— ye  maun  come  to  some  Highland  body  like  Robin  Oig 
hersell  for  the  like  of  these — put  1  maun  pe  wishing  you 
goot  night,  and  twenty  of  them  let  alane  ane,  and  I  maun 
down  to  the  Clachan  to  see  if  the  lad  Henry  VVaakfelt  is 
out  of  his  humdudgeons  yet." 

The  party  at  the  alehouse  were  still  in  full  talk,  and  the 
tieachery  of  Robin  Oig  still  the  theme  of  conversation, 
when  the  supposed  culprit  entered  the  apartment.  His 
it-rival,  as  usually  happens  in  such  a  case,  put  an  instant 
Mop  to  the  discussion  of  which  he  had  furnished  the  sub- 
ject, and  he  was  received  by  the  company  a&sembled  with 
that  chilling  silence,  which,  more  than  a  thousand  excla- 
mations, tells  an  intruder  that  he  is  unwelcome.  Sur- 
prised and  offended,  but  not  appalled  by  the  reception 

'  OL      I. 


ICU'  CIIROMCLES    OF 

which  he  experienced,  Robin  entered  with  an  undaunted 
and  even  a  haughty  air.  attempted  no  greeting  as  he  saw 
he  was  received  with  none,  and  placed  himself  by  the  side 
of  the  fire,  a  little  apart  from  a  table,  at  which  Harry 
Wakefield,  the  bailiff,  and  two  or  three  other  persons,  were 
seated.  The  ample  Cumbrian  kitchen  would  have  af- 
forded plenty  of  room  even  for  a  larger  separation. 

Robin,  thus  seated,  proceeded  to  light  his  pipe,  and 
call  for  a  pint  of  twopenny. 

"  We  have  no  twopence  ale,"  answered  Ralph  Heskett 
the  landlord  ;  "  but  as  thou  find'st  thy  own  tobacco,  it's 
like  thou  may'st  find  thy  own  liquor  too — it's  the  wont  ot 
thy  country,  I  wot." 

"  Shame,  goodman,"  said  the  landlady,  a  blithe  bustling 
housewife,  hastening  herself  to  supply  the  guest  with 
liquor — *'  Thou  knowest  well  enow  what  the  strange  man 
wants,  and  it's  thy  trade  to  be  civil,  man.  Thou  shouldst 
know,  that  if  the  Scot  likes  a  small  pot,  he  pays  a  sure 
penny." 

Without  taking  any  notice  of  this  nuptial  dialogue,  the 
Highlander  took  the  flagon  in  his  hand,  and  addressing 
the  company  generally,  drank  the  interesting  toast  of 
"  Good  markets,"  to  the  party  assembled. 

"  The  better  that  the  wind  blew  fewer  dealers  from 
the  north,"  said  one  of  the  farmers,  "  and  fewer  High- 
land runts  to  eat  up  the  English  meadows." 

"  Saul  of  my  pody,  put  you  are  vvrang  there,  my 
friend,"  answered  Robin,  with  composure  ;  "  it  is  your 
fat  Englishmen  that  eat  up  our  Scots  cattle,  puir  things." 

"  1  wish  there  was  a  summat  to  eat  up  their  drovers," 
said  another  ;  "  a  plain  Englishman  canna  make  bread 
within  a  kenning  of  them.1" 

"  Or  an  honest  servant  keep  his  master's  favour,  but 
the}  will  come  sliding  in  between  him  and  the  sunshine,' 
said  the  bailiff. 

"  If  these  pe  jokes,"  sa'd  Robin  Oig,  with  the  same 
composure,  "  there  is  owcr  mony  jokes  upon  one  man  '• 

"  It  is  no  joke,  but  downright  earnest,"  said  the  bailiff. 
"  Hnrkye,  Mr.  Robin  Ogg,  or  whatever  is  your  name,  it's 


THE    CAXOXGATE.  I  o«> 

riglit  we  should  tell  you  that  we  are  all  cf  one  opinion, 
auci  that  is,  that  you,  Mr.  Robin  Ogg,  have  behaved  in 
our  friend  Mr.  Harry  Wakeh'eld  here,  like  a  raff  and  a 
blackguard." 

"  Nae  doubt,  nae  doubt,"  answered  Robin,  with  grea 
composure  ;  "  and  vou  are  a  set  of  very  pretty  judges, 
for  whose   prains  or  pehaviour  I  wad  not  gie  a  pinch  of 
sueeshing.     If  Mr.   Harry  Waakfelt  kens   where   he   is 
wranged,  he  kens  where  he  may  be  righted." 

"  He  speaks  truth."  said  Wakefield,  who  had  listened 
to  what  passed,  divided  between  the  offence  which  he 
had  taken  at  Robin's  late  behaviour,  and  the  revival  ol 
his  habitual  feelings  of  regard. 

He  now  rose,  and  went  towards  Robin,  who  got  up  from 
his  seat  as  he  approached,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  That's  right,  Harry — go  it — serve  him  out,"  re- 
sounded on  all  si.les — "  tip  him  the  nailer — show  him 
the  mill." 

"  Hold   your   peace  all  of  you,   and  be ,"  said 

Wakefield  ;  and  then  addressing  his  comrade,  he  took 
him  by  the  extended  hand,  with  something  alike  of  respect 
and  defiance.  "  Robin,"  he  said,  "  thou  hast  used  me 
ill  enough  this  day  ;  but  if  you  mean,  like  a  frank  fellow, 
to  shake  hands,  and  take  a  tussle  for  love  on  the  sod,  why 
I'll  forgie  thee,  man,  and  we  shall  be  better  friends  than 
ever." 

"  And  would  it  not  pe  petter  topecood  friends  without 
more  of  the  matter  9"  said  Robin  ;  "  we  will  be  much 
petter  friendships  with  our  panes  hale  than  proken." 

Harry  Wakefield  dropped  the  hand  of  his  friend,  01 
rather  threw  it  from  him. 

;'  1  did  not  think  I  had  been  keeping  company  for  three 
years  with  a  coward." 

"  Coward  pelongs  to  none  of  my  name,"  said  Robin, 
whose  eyes  began  to  kindle,  but  keeping  the  command  ol 
his  temper.  "  It  was  no  coward's  legs  or  hands,  Harr," 
Waakfelt,  that  drew  you  out  of  the  fords  of  Frew  wh«u 
vou  was  drifting  ower  the  plack  rock,  and  every  eel  in  tnr 
river  expected  his  share  of  you." 


4  CHRONICLES    OF 

''  And  that  is  true  enough,  too,"  said  the  Englishman 
struck  by  the  appeal. 

"  Adzooks  !"  exclaimed  the  bailiff — "  sure  Harry 
Wakefield,  the  nattiest  lad  at  Whitson  Tryste,  Woolcr 
Fair,  Carlisle  Sands,  or  Stagshaw  Bank,  is  not  going  to 
show  white  feather  ?  Ah,  this  comes  of  living  so  long 
with  kilts  and  bonnets — men  forget  the  use  of  their 
daddies." 

"  I  may  teach  you,  Master  Fleecebumpkin,  that  1  have 
not  lost  the  use  of  mine,"  said  Wakefield,  and  then  went 
on.  "  This  will  never  do,  Robin.  We  must  have  a  turn- 
up, or  we  shall  be  the  talk  of  the  country  side.  I'll  lie 

d d  if  1  hurt  thee — I'll  put  on  the  gloves  gin  thou  like. 

Come,  stand  forward  like  a  man." 

"  To  pe  peaten  like  a  dog,"  said  Robin  ;  "  is  there 
any  reason  in  that  9  If  you  think  1  have  done  you  wrong, 
I'll  go  before  your  shudge,  though  I  neither  know  his  law 
nor  his  language." 

A  general  cry  of  "  No,  no — no  law,  no  lawyer  !  a 
bellyful  and  be  friends,"  was  echoed  by  the  bystanders. 

"  But,"  continued  Robin,  "  if  1  am  to  fight,  1  have  no 
skill  to  fight  like  a  jackanapes,  with  hands  and  nails." 

"  How  would  you  fight  then  *?"  said  his  antagonist  ; 
"  though  1  am  thinking  it  would  be  hard  to  bring  you  to 
the  scratch  anyhow." 

"  I  would  fight  with  proadswords,  and  sink  point  on  the 
first  plood  drawn like  a  gentlemans." 

A  loud  shout  of  laughter  followed  the  proposal,  which 
indeed  had  rather  escaped  from  poor  Robin's  swelling 
heart,  than  been  the  dictate  of  his  sober  judgment. 

"  Gentleman,  quotha  "'  was  echoed  on  all  sides,  with 
a  shout  of  unextinguishable  laughter  ;  "  a  very  pretty 
g^'itleman,  God  wot — Canst  get  two  swords  for  the  gen- 
tleman to  fight  with,  Ralph  Heskett  9" 

'  No,  but  I  can  send  to  the  armoury  at  Car'isle,  and 
leno  them  two  forks,  to  be  making  shift  with  in  the  mean- 


THE    CAXO]VGATK.  I&5 

"  Tush,  man,"  said  another,  "  the  bonny  Scots  come 
into  the  world  w:th  the  blue  bonnet  on  their  heads,  and 
dirk  and  pistol  at  their  belt." 

"  Best  send  post,"  said  Mr.  Fleecebumpkin,  "  to  the 
Squire  of  Corby  Castle,  to  come  and  stand  second  to  the 
gentleman." 

hi  the  midst  of  this  torrent  of  general  ridicule,  the 
Highlander  instinctively  griped  beneath  the  folds  of  his 
plaid. 

"  But  it's  better  not,"  he  said  in  his  own  language. 
'  A  hundred  curses  on  the  swine-eaters,  who  know  neither 
iecency  nor  civility  !" 

"  Make  room,  the  pack  of  you,"  he  said,  advancing  to 
the  door. 

But  his  former  friend  interposed  his  sturdy  bulk,  and 
opposed  his  leaving  the  house  ;  and  when  Robin  Oig  at- 
tempted to  make  his  way  by  force,  he  hit  him  down  on 
the  floor,  with  as  much  ease  as  a  boy  bowls  down  a 
nine-pin. 

"  A  ring,  a  ring  !"  was  now  shouted,  until  the  dark 
rafters,  and  the  hams  that  hung  on  them,  trembled  again, 
and  the  very  platters  on  the  bink  clattered  against  each 
other.  "  Well  done,  Harry" — "  Give  it  him  home,  Har- 
ry"— "  Take  care  of  him  now — he  sees  his  own  blood  !' 

Such  were  the  exclamations,  while  the  Highlander, 
starting  from  the  ground,  all  his  coldness  and  caution  lost 
in  frantic  rage,  sprung  at  his  antagonist  with  the  fury,  the 
activity,  and  the  vindictive  purpose,  of  an  incensed  tiger- 
cat.  But  when  could  rage  encounter  science  and  tem- 
per 9  Robin  Oig  again  went  down  in  the  unequal  contest ; 
and  as  the  blow  was  necessarily  a  severe  one,  he  lay  mo- 
tionless on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen.  The  landlady  ran 
to  offer  some  aid,  but  Mr.  Fleecebumpkin  would  not  per- 
mit her  to  approach. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  he  said,  "  he  will  come  to  within 
time,  and  come  up  to  the  scratch  again.  He  has  not  got 
half  his  broth  yet. 

10  ~QL.    I 


CIIItONICLKS    OF 

"  He  has  got  all  I  mean  to  give  him,  though,"  said  his 
antagonist,  whose  heart  began  to  relent  towards  his  old 
associate  ;  "  and  J  would  rather  by  half  give  the  rest  to 
yourself,  Mr.  Fleecebumpkin,  for  you  pretend  to  know  a 
thing  or  two,  and  Robin  had  not  art  enough  even  to  peel 
before  setting  to,  but  fought  with  his  pJaid  dangling  about 
him. — Stand  up,  Robin,  my  man  !  all  friends  now  ;  and 
let  me  hear  the  man  that  will  speak  a  word  against  you, 
or  your  country,  for  your  sake." 

Robin  Oig  was  still  under  the  dominion  of  his  passion, 
and  eager  to  renew  the  onset  ;  but  being  withheld  on  the 
one  side  by  the  peace-making  Dame  Heskett,  and  on  the 
other,  aware  that  Wakefield  no  longer  meant  to  renew  the 
combat,  his  fury  sunk  into  gloomy  sullenness. 

"  Come,  come,  never  grudge  so  much  at  it,  man,"  said 
the  brave-spirited  Englishman,  with  the  placability  of  his 
country,  "  shake  hands,  and  we  will  be  better  friends 
than  ever." 

"  Friends  !"  exclaimed  Robin  Oig  with  strong  empha- 
sis— "  friends  ! — Never.  Look  to  yourself,  Harry  Waak- 
felt." 

"  Then  the  curse  of  Cromwell  on  your  proud  Scots 
stomach,  as  the  man  says  in  the  play,  and  you  may  do 
your  worst,  and  be  d ;  for  one  man  can  say  noth- 
ing more  to  another  after  a  tussle,  than  that  he  is  sorry 
for  it." 

On  these  terms  the  friends  parted  ;  Robin  Oig  drew 
out,  in  silence,  a  piece  of  money,  threw  it  on  the  table, 
and  then  left  the  alehouse.  But  turning  at  the  door,  he 
shook  his  hand  at  Wakefield,  pointing  with  his  fore-finger 
upwards,  in  a  manner  which  might  imply  either  a  threat 
or  a  caution.  He  then  disappeared  in  the  moonlight. 

Some  words  passed  after  his  departure,  between  the 
bailiff,  who  piqued  himself  on  being  a  little  of  a  bully,  and 
Harr)  Wakefield,  who,  with  generous  inconsistency,  was 
now  not  indisposed  to  begin  a  new  combat  in  defence  of 
Robin  Oig's  reputation,  "  although  he  could  not  use  his 
daddies  like  an  Englishman,  as  it  did  not  come  natural  to 
him  "  But  Dame  Heskett  prevented  this  second  quarrel 


THE    CANONGATE.  187 

from  coming  to  a  head  by  her  peremptory  interference 
'  There  should  be  no  more  fighting  in  her  house,"  she 
said  ;  "  there  had  been  too  much  already. — And  you 
Mr.  Wakefield,  may  live  to  learn,"  she  added,  "  what  i 
is  to  make  a  deadly  enemy  out  of  a  good  friend." 

"  Pshaw,  dame  !  Robin  Oig  is  an  honest  fellow,  and 
will  never  keep  malice." 

"  Do  not  trust  to  that — you  do  not  know  the  dour  tem- 
per of  the  Scots,  though  you  have  dealt  with  them  sc> 
often.  I  have  a  right  to  know  them;  my  mother  being  a 
Scot." 

"  And  so  is  well  seen  on  her  daughter,"  said  Ralph 
Heskett. 

This  nuptial  sarcasm  gave  the  discourse  another  turn  , 
fresh  customers  entered  the  tap-room  or  kitchen,  and 
others  left  it.  The  conversation  turned  on  the  expected 
markets,  and  the  report  of  prices  from  different  parts  both 
of  Scotland  and  England — treaties  were  commenced,  and 
'Harry  Wakefield  was  lucky  enough  to  find  a  chap  for  a 
part  of  his  drove,  and  at  a  very  considerable  profit  ;  an 
event  of  consequence  more  than  sufficient  to  blot  out  all 
remembrances  of  the  unpleasant  scuffle  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  day.  But  there  remained  one  party  from  whose 
mind  that  recollection  could  not  have  been  wiped  away 
oy  the  possession  of  every  head  of  cattle  betwixt  Esk  and 
Eden. 

This  was  Robin  Oig  M'Combich.— "  That  I  should 
l:avc  had  no  weapon,"  he  said,  "  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  ! — Blighted  be  the  tongue  that  bids  the  Highlander 
part  with  the  dirk — the  dirk — ha  !  the  English  blood  ! — 
My  muhme's  word — when  did  her  word  fall  to  the 
ground  ?" 

The  recollection  of  the  fatal  prophecy  confirmed  the 
deadly  intention  which  instantly  sprang  up  in  his  mind. 

"  Ha  !  Morrison  cannot  be  many  miles  behind  ;  and  il 
it  were  an  hundred,  what  then  !" 

His  impetuous  spirit  had  now  a  fixed  purpose  and  mo 
live  of  action,  and  he  turned  the  light  foot  of  his  country 
towards  the  wilds,  through  which  he  knew,  by  Mr.  lrehyr» 


188  CIIRON    CLES    Ot 

report,  that  Morrison  was  advnncing.  His  mind  wag 
wholly  engrossed  by  the  sense  of  injury  -injury  sustain- 
ed from  a  friend  ;  and  by  the  desire  of  vengeance  on  one 
whom  he  now  accounted  his  most  bitter  enemy.  The 
treasured  ideas  of  self-importance  and  self-opinion — ol 
ideal  birth  and  quality,  had  become  more  precious  to  him, 
(like  the  hoard  to  the  miser,)  because  he  could  only  enjoy 
them  in  secret.  But  that  hoard  was  pillaged,  the  idols 
which  he  had  secretly  worshipped  had  been  desecrated 
and  profaned.  Insulted,  abused,  and  beaten,  he  was  no 
longer  worthy,  in  his  own  opin'on,  of  the  name  he  bore, 
or  the  lineage  which  he  belonged  to — nothing  was  left  to 
him — nothing  but  revenge  ;  and,  as  the  reflection  added 
a  galling  spur  to  every  step,  he  determined  it  should  be 
as  sudden  and  signal  as  the  offence. 

When  Robin  Oig  left  the  door  of  the  alehouse,  seven 
or  eight  English  miles  at  least  lay  betwixt  Morrison  and 
him.  The  advance  of  the  former  was  slow,  limited  by 
the  sluggish  pace  of  his  cattle  ;  the  last  left  behind  him 
stubble-field  and  hedge-row,  crag  and  dark  heath,  all  glit- 
tering with  frost-rhime  in  the  broad  November  moonlight, 
at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour.  And  now  the  distant 
lowing  of  Morrison's  cattle  is  heard  ;  and  now  they  are 
seen  creeping  like  moles  in  size  and  slowness  of  motion 
on  the  broad  face  of  the  rnoor  ;  and  now  he  meets  them 
• — passes  them,  and  stops  their  conductor. 

"  May  good  betide  us,"  said  the  Soulhlander — "  Is 
this  you,  Robin  M'Cornbich,  or  your  wraith  *?" 

"  It  is  Robin  Oig  M'Combich,"  answered  the  High- 
lander, "  and  it  is  not. — But  never  mind  that,  put  pe  giving 
me  the  skene-dhu." 

"  What  !  you  are  for  back  to  the  Highlands — The 
devil  !  —  Have  you  selt  all  olF  before  the  fair  9  This  beats 
all  for  quick  markets." 

"  I  have  not  sold — I  am  not  going  north — May  pe  I 
will  never  go  north  again. — Give  me  pack  my  dirk,  Hugh 
Morrison,  or  there  will  pe  words  petween  us." 

"  Indeed,  Robin,  I'll  be  better  advised  before  I  gie  i 
bac  k  to  you — it  is  a  wanchancy  weapon  in  a  Highlandman's 


THE    CAJVONGATE.  189 

band,  and  I  am  thinking  you  will  be  about  some  barns- 
breaking." 

"  Prutt,  trutt  !  let  me  bave  my  weapon,"  said  Robin 
Gig  impatiently. 

"  Hooly  and  fairly,"  said  bis  well-meaning  friend. 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  will  do  better  than  these  dirking  do- 
ings— Ye  k*?n  Highlander  and  Lovvlander,  and  Border- 
men,  are  a'  ae  man's  bairns  when  you  are  over  the  Scots 
dyke.  See,  the  Eskdale  callants,  and  fighting  Charlie  of 
Liddesdale,  and  the  Lockerby  lads,  and  the  four  Dandies 
of  Lustruther,  and  a  wheen  mair  grey  plaids,  are  coming 
up  behind  ;  and  if  you  are  wranged,  there  is  the  hand  of 
a  Manly  Morrison,  we'll  see  you  righted,  if  Carlisle  and 
Stanwix  baith  took  up  the  feud." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Robin  Oig,  desirous  of 
eluding  the  suspicions  of  his  friend,  "  I  have  enlisted  with 
a  party  of  the  Black  Watch,  and  must  march  off  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"  Enlisted  !  Were  you  mad  or  drunk  *? — You  must  buy 
yourself  off — I  can  lend  you  twenty  notes,  and  twenty  to 
fhat,  if  the  drove  sell." 

"  1  thank  you — thank  ye,  Hughie  ;  but  I  go  with  good 
*vill  the  gate  that  I  am  going, — so  the  dirk — the  dirk  !" 

"  There  it  is  for  you  then,  since  less  wunna  serve. 
But  think  on  what  I  was  saying. — Waes  me,  it  will  be 
sair  news  in  the  braes  of  Balquidder,  that  Robin  Oig 
M'Combich  should  have  run  an  ill  gate,  and  ta'en  on." 

"  111  news  in  Balquidder,  indeed  !"  echoed  poor  Rob- 
in ;  "  put  Cot  speed  you,  Hughie,  and  send  you  good 
marcats.  Ye  winna  meet  with  Robin  Oig;  again  either  at 

o       w 

tryste  or  fair." 

So  saying,  he  shook  hastily  the  hand  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  set  out  in  the  direction  from  which  he  bad  ad- 
vanced, with  the  spirit  of  his  former  pace. 

i;  There  is  something  wrang  with  the  lad,"  muttered 
the  Morrison  to  himself  ;  "  but  we  will  maybe  see  better 
into  it  the  morn's  morning." 

Buv  long  ere  the  morning  dawned,  the  catastrophe  of 
our  tale  had  taken  place.  It  was  two  hours  after  the 


130  CHRONICLES    OF 

affray  had  happened,  and  it  was  totally  forgotten  by  almost 
every  one,  when  Robin  Oig  returned  to  Heskett's  inn 
The  place  was  filled  at  once  by  various  sorts  of  men,  and 
with  noises  corresponding  to  their  character.  There  were 
the  grave,  low  sounds  of  men  engaged  in  busy  traffic, 
with  the  laugh,  the  song,  and  the  riotous  jest  of  those  who 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  themselves.  Among  the 
last  was  Harry  Wakefield,  who,  amidst  a  grinning  group 
of  smock-frocks,  hobnailed  shoes,  and  jolly  English  physi- 
ognomies, was  trolling  forth  the  old  ditty, 

"  What  though  my  name  be  Roger, 
Who  drives  the  plough  and  cart — " 

when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  well-known  voice,  saying  in 
a  high  and  stern  voice,  marked  by  the  sharp  Highland  ac- 
cent, "  Harry  Waakfelt — if  you  be  a  man,  stand  up  !" 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? — what  is  it  9"  the  guests  de- 
manded of  each  other. 

"  It  is  only  a  d d  Scotsman,"  said  Fleecebumpkin, 

who  was  by  this  time  very  drunk,  "  whom  Harry  Wake- 
field  helped  to  his  broth  to-day,  who  is  now  come  to  have 
his  cauld  kail  hett  again." 

"  Harry  Waakfelt,"  repeated  the  same  ominous  sum- 
mons, "  stand  up,  if  you  be  a  man  !" 

There  is  something  in  the  tone  of  deep  and  concen- 
trated passion,  which  attracts  attention  and  imposes  awe, 
even  by  the  very  sound.  The  guests  shrunk  back  on 
every  side,  and  gazed  at  the  Highlander,  as  he  stood  in 
the  middle  of  them,  his  brows  bent,  and  his  features  rigid 
with  resolution. 

"  I  will  stand  up  with  all  my  heart,  Robin,  my  boy,  but 
i  shall  be  to  shake  hands  with  you,  and  drink  down  all 
unkindness.  It  is  not  the  fault  of  your  heart,  man,  that 
you  don't  know  how  to  clench  your  hands." 

By  this  time  he  stood  opposite  to  his  antagonist ;  his 
open  and  unsuspecting  look  strangely  contrasted  with  the 
stern  purpose,  which  gleamed  wild,  dark,  and  vindictive 
in  the  Q,yes  of  the  Highlander. 


THE    CANONGATE.  lfJl 

'  'Tis  not  thy  fault,  man.  that,  not  having  the  kick 
to  be  an  Englishman,  thou  canst  not  tight  more  than  a 

o  *  o 

school-girl." 

"  1  can  fight,"  answered  Robin  Oig  sternly,  but  calmly, 
"  and  you  shall  know  it.  You,  Harry  Waakfelt,  show- 
ed me  to-day  how  the  Saxon  churls  fight — I  show  you 
now  how  the  Highland  Dunnievvassal  fights." 

He  seconded  the  word  with  the  action,  and  plunged 
the  dagger,  which  he  suddenly  displayed,  into  the  broad 
breast  of  the  English  yeoman,  with  such  fatal  certainty 
and  force,  that  the  hilt  made  a  hollow  sound  against  the 
breast-bone,  and  the  double-edged  point  split  the  very 
heart  of  his  victim.  Harry  Wakefield  fell,  and  expired 
with  a  single  groan.  His  assassin  next  seized  the  bailiff 
by  the  collar,  and  offered  the  bloody  poniard  to  his  throat, 
whilst  dread  and  surprise  rendered  the  man  incapable  of 
defence. 

"  It  were  very  just  to  lay  you  beside  him,"  he  said, 
"  but  the  blood  of  a  base  pick-thank  shall  never  mix  or 
my  father's  dirk,  with  that  of  a  brave  man." 

As  he  spoke,  he  cast  the  man  from  him  with  so  much 
force  that  he  fell  on  the  floor,  while  Robin,  with  his 
other  hand,  threw  the  fatal  weapon  into  the  blazing  turf- 
fire. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  take  rne  who  likes — and  let  fire 
cleanse  blood  if  it  can." 

The  pause  of  astonishment  still  continuing,  Robin  Oig 
asked  for  a  peace-officer,  and  a  constable  having  stepped 
out,  he  surrendered  himself  to  his  custody. 

"  A  bloody  night's  work  you  have  made  of  it,"  said 
the  constable. 

"  Your  own  fault,"  said  the  Highlander.  "  Had 
you  kept  his  hands  off  me  twa  hours  since,  he  would 
have  been  now  as  well  and  merry  as  he  was  twa  minutes 
since." 

"  It  must  be  sorely  answered,"  said  the  peace-officer. 

"  Never  you  mind  that — death  pays  all  debts  ;  it  will 
pay  that  to-." 


l'J2  CHRONICLES    OF 

The  honor  of  the  bystanders  began  now  to  give  way 
to  indignation :  and  the  sight  of  a  favourite  companion 
murdered  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  provocation  being,  in 
their  opinion,  so  utterly  inadequate  to  the  excess  of  ven- 
geance, might  have  induced  them  to  kill  the  perpetrator 
of  the  deed  even  upon  the  very  spot.  The  constable, 
however,  did  his  duty  oh  this  occasion,  and  with  the  as- 
sistance of  some  of  the  more  reasonable  persons  present, 
procured  horses  to  guard  the  prisoner  to  Carlisle,  to  abide 
his  doom  at  the  next  assizes.  While  the  escort  was  pre- 
paring, the  prisoner  neither  expressed  the  least  interest, 
nor  attempted  the  slightest  reply.  Only,  before  he  was 
carried  from  the  fatal  apartment,  he  desired  to  look  at 
the  dead  body,  which,  raised  from  the  floor,  had  been 
deposited  upon  the  large  table,  (at  the  head  of  which 
Harry  Wakefield  had  presided  but  a  few  minutes  before, 
full  of  life,  vigour,  and  animation,)  until  the  surgeons 
should  examine  the  mortal  wound.  The  face  of  the 
corpse  was  decently  covered  with  a  napkin.  To  the  sur- 
prise and  horror  of  the  bystanders,  which  displayed  itself 
in  a  general  Jih  !  drawn  through  clenched  teeth  and  half- 
shut  lips,  Robin  Oig  removed  the  cloth,  and  gazed  with 
a  mournful  but  steady  eye  on  the  lifeless  visage,  which 
had  been  so  lately  animated,  that  the  smile  of  good  hu- 
moured confidence  in  his  own  strength,  of  conciliation  at 
once,  and  contempt  towards  his  enemy,  still  curled  his 
lip.  While  those  present  expected  that  the  wound,  which 
had  so  lately  flooded  the  apartment  with  gore,  would  send 
forth  fresh  streams  at  the  touch  of  the  homicide,  Robin 
Oig  replaced  the  covering,  with  the  brief  exclamation — 
''  He  was  a  pretty  man  !" 

My  story  is  nearly  ended.  The  unfortunate  High- 
'ander  stood  his  trial  at  Carlisle.  1  was  myself  present, 
and  as  a  young  Scottish  lawyer,  or  barrister  at  least,  and 
reputed  a  man  of  some  quality,  the  politeness  of  the  Sher- 
fTof  Cumberland  offered  me  a  place  on  the  bench.  The 
facts  of  the  case  were  proved  in  the  manner  I  have  related 
them  ;  and  whatever  might  be  at  first  the  prejudice  of 
the  ardience  against  a  crime  so  un-English  as  that  of 


THE    CANONGATE.  193 

assassination  from  revenge,  yet  when  the  rooted  national 
prejudices  of  the  prisoner  had  been  explained,  which 
made  him  consider  himself  as  stained  with  indelible  dis- 
honour, when  subjected  to  personal  violence  ;  when  his 
previous  patience,  moderation,  and  endurance,  were  con- 
sidered, the  generosity  of  the  English  audience  was  in- 
clined to  regard  his  crime  as  the  wayward  aberration  of  a 
false  idea  of  honour  rather  than  as  flowing  from  a  heart 
naturally  savage,  or  perverted  by  habitual  vice.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  charge  of  the  venerable  Judge  to  the 
jury,  although  not  at  that  time  liable  to  be  much  affected 
either  by  that  which  was  eloquent  or  pathetic. 

"  We  have  had,"  he  said,  "  in  the  previous  part  of 
our  duty,  (alluding  to  some  former  trials,)  to  discuss 
crimes  which  infer  disgust  and  abhorrence,  while  they 
call  down  the  well-merited  vengeance  of  the  law.  ll  is 
now  our  still  more  melancholy  task  to  apply  its  salutary 
though  severe  enactments  to  a  case  of  a  very  singular 
character,  in  which  the  crime  (for  a  crime  it  is,  and  a  deep 
one)  arose  less  out  of  the  malevolence  of  the  heart,  than 
the  error  of  the  understanding — less  from  any  idea  of  com- 
mitting wrong,  than  from  an  unhappily  perverted  notion 
of  that  which  is  right.  Here  we  have  two  men,  highly 
esteemed,  it  has  been  stated,  in  their  rank  of  life,  and  at- 
tached it  seems,  to  each  other  as  friends,  one  of  whose  lives 
has  been  already  sacrificed  to  a  punctilio,  and  the  oilier  is 
about  to  prove  the  vengeance  of  the  offended  laws;  and 
yet  both  may  claim  our  commiseration  at  least,  as  men 
acting  in  ignorance  of  each  other's  national  prejudices, 
and  unhappily  misguided  rather  than  voluntarily  erring 
from  the  path  of  right  conduct. 

'•  In  the  original  cause  of  the  misunderstanding,  we 
must  in  justice  give  the  right  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 
He  had  acquired  possession  of  the  enclosure,  which  was 
ihe  object  of  competition,  by  a  legal  contract  with  the  pro- 
urietor  Mr.  Ireby  ;  and  yet,  when  accosted  with  reproaches 
jndeserved  in  themselves,  and  galling  doubtless  to  a  tem- 
per at  least  sufficiently  susceptible  of  passion,  he  offered 
536 


194  CHRONICLES    OF 

notwithstanding  to  yield  up  half  his  acquisition,  for  the 
sake  of  peace  and  good  neighbourhood,  and  his  amica- 
ble proposal  was  rejected  with  scorn.  Then  follows  the 
scene  at  Mr.  Heskett  the  puhlican's,  and  you  will  observe 
how  the  stranger  was  treated  by  the  deceased,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  observe,  by  those  around,  who  seem  to  have 
urged  him  in  a  manner  which  was  aggravating  in  the 
highest  degree.  While  he  asked  for  peace  and  for  com- 
position, and  offered  submission  to  a  magistrate,  or  to  a 
mutual  arbiter,  the  prisoner  was  insulted  by  a  whole  com- 
pany, who  seem  on  this  occasion  to  have  forgotten  the 
national  maxim  of  '  fair  play  ;'  and  while  attempting  to 
escape  from  the  place  in  peace,  he  was  intercepted,  struck 
down,  and  beaten  to  the  effusion  of  his  blood. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  it  was  with  some  impatience 
that  1  heard  my  learned  brother,  who  opened  the  case  for 
the  crown,  give  an  unfavourable  turn  to  the  prisoner's 
conduct  on  this  occasion.  He  said  the  prisoner  was 
afraid  to  encounter  his  antagonist  in  fair  fight,  or  to  submit 
to  the  laws  of  the  ring  ;  and  that  therefore,  like  a  cowardly 
Italian,  he  had  recourse  to  his  fatal  stiletto,  to  murder  the 
man  whom  he  dared  not  meet  in  manly  encounter,  i 
observed  the  prisoner  shrink  from  this  part  of  the  accu- 
sation with  the  abhorrence  natural  to  a  brave  man  ;  and 
as  1  would  wish  to  make  my  words  impressive,  when  I 
point  his  real  crime,  I  must  secure  his  opinion  of  my  im- 
partiality, by  rebutting  every  thing  that  seems  to  me  a 
false  accusation.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  prisoner 
is  a  man  of  resolution — too  much  resolution — 1  wish  to 
Heaven  that  he  had  less,  or  rather  that  he  had  had  a  better 
education  to  regulate  it. 

"  Gentlemen,  as  to  the  laws  my  brother  talks  of,  they 
may  be  known  in  the  Bull-ring,  or  the  Bear-garden,  or 
the  Cockpit,  but  they  are  not  known  here.  Or,  if  they 
should  be  so  far  admitted  as  furnishing  a  species  of  proof, 
that  no  malice  was  intended  in  this  sort  of  combat,  from 
which  fatal  accidents  do  sometimes  arise,  it  can  only  be 
go  admitted  when  both  parties  are  in  pari  casu,  equally 
acquai  ited  with,  and  equally  willing  to  refer  themselves  to 


THE    CANONGATfi  195 

.hat  species  of  arbitrement.  But  will  it  be  contended 
that  a  man  of  superior  rank  and  education  is  to  be  sub- 
jected, or  is  obliged  to  subject  himself,  to  this  coarse  and 
brutal  strife,  perhaps  in  opposition  to  a  younger,  stronger, 
or  more  skilful  opponent  9  Certainly  even  the  pugilistic 
code,  if  founded  upon  the  fair  play  of  Merry  Old  Eng- 
land, is  my  brother  alleges  it  to  be,  can  contain  nothing 
«o  pieposterous.  And,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  the 
laws  would  support  an  English  gentleman,  wearing,  we 
will  suppose,  his  sword,  in  defending  himself  by  force 
against  a  violent  personal  aggression  of  the  nature  offered 
to  this  prisoner,  they  will  not  less  protect  a  foreigner  and 
a  stranger,  involved  in  the  same  unpleasing  circumstances. 
If,  therefore,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  when  thus  pressed 
by  a  vis  major,  the  object  of  obloquy  to  a  whole  compa- 
ny, and  of  direct  violence  from  one  at  least,  and  as  he 
might  reasonably  apprehend,  from  more,  the  panel  had 
produced  the  weapon  which  his  countrymen,  as  we  are 
informed,  generally  carry  about  their  persons,  and  the 
same  unhappy  circumstance  had  ensued  which  you  have 
heard  detailed  in  evidence,  I  could  not  in  my  con- 
science have  asked  from  you  a  verdict  of  murder. 
The  prisoner's  personal  defence  might  indeed,  even 
in  that  case,  have  gone  more  or  less  beyond  the  Mod- 
eramen  inculpata  tittefa,  spoken  of  by  lawyers,  but 
the  punishment  incurred  would  have  been  that  of  man- 
slaughter, not  of  murder.  I  beg  leave  to  add,  that  I 
should  have  thought  this  milder  species  of  charge  was  de- 
manded in  the  case  supposed,  notwithstanding  the  statute 
of  James  I.  cap.  8.  which  takes  the  case  of  slaughter  by 
stabbing  with  a  short  weapon,  even  without  malice  pre- 
pense, out  of  the  benefit  of  clergy.  For  this  statute  01 
stabbing,  as  it  is  termed,  arose  out  of  a  temporary  cause  , 
and  as  the  real  guilt  is  the  same,  whether  the  slaughter 
oe  committed  by  the  dagger,  or  by  sword  or  pistol,  the 
benignity  of  the  modern  law  p  aces  them  all  on  the  same 
or  nearly  the  same  footing. 

"  But,   gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the   pinch  of  the  case 
lies  in  the  interval  of  two  hours  interposed   betwixt  the 


196 

reception  of  the  injury  and  the  fatal  retaliation.  In  the 
heat  of  affray  and  chaude  melee,  law,  compassionating  the 
infirmities  of  humanity,  makes  allowance  for  the  passions 
which  rule  such  a  stormy  moment — for  the  sense  of  pres- 
ent pain,  for  the  apprehension  of  further  injury,  (or  the 
difficulty  of  ascertaining  with  due  accuracy  the  precise 
degree  of  violence  which  is  necessary  to  protect  the  per 
son  of  the  individual,  without  annoying  or  injuring  the 
assailant  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  But  the 
time  necessary  to  walk  twelve  miles,  however  speedily 
performed,  was  an  interval  sufficient  lor  the  prisoner  to 
have  recollected  himself  ;  and  the  violence  with  which 
he  carried  his  purpose  into  effect,  with  so  many  circum- 
stances of  deliberate  determination,  could  neither  be  in- 
duced by  the  passion  of  anger,  nor  that  of  fear.  It  was 
the  purpose  and  the  act  of  predetermined  revenge,  for 
which  law  neither  can,  will,  nor  ought  to  have  sympathy 
or  allowance. 

"  It  is  true,  we  may  repeat  to  ourselves,  in  alleviation 
of  this  poor  man's  unhappy  action,  that  his  case  is  a  very 
peculiar  one.  The  country  which  he  inhabits  was,  in  the 
days  of  many  now  alive,  inaccessible  to  the  laws,  not  only 
of  England,  which  have  not  even  yet  penetrated  thither 
but  to  those  to  which  our  neighbours  of  Scotland  are 
subjected,  and  which  must  be  supposed  to  be,  and  no 
doubt  actually  are,  founded  upon  the  general  principles  o( 
justice  and  equity  which  pervade  every  civilized  country. 
Amongst  their  mountains,  as  among  the  North  American 
Indians,  the  various  tribes  were  wont  to  make  war  upon 
each  other,  so  that  each  man  was  obliged  to  go  armed  for 
his  own  protection. 

These  men,  from  the  ideas  which  they  entertained  of 
their  own  descent  and  of  their  own  consequence,  regard- 
ed themselves  as  so  many  cavaliers  or  men-at-arms,  rath- 
er  than  as  the  peasantry  of  a  peaceful  country.  Those 
laws  of  the  ring,  as  rny  brother  terms  them,  were  un- 
known to  the  race  of  warlike  mountaineers  ;  that  decision 
of  quarrels  by  no  other  weapons  than  those  which  nature 
lias  given  every  man,  must  to  them  have  seemed  a*  vulgar 


THE    CANONGATE.  197 

and  as  preposterous  as  to  the  Noblesse  of  France.  Re- 
venge, on  the  other  hand,  must  have  been  as  familiar  to 
their  habits  of  society  as  to  those  of  the  Cherokees  or 
Mohawks.  It  is,  indeed,  as  described  by  Bacon,  at  bot- 
tom a  kind  of  wild  untutored  justice  ;  for  the  fear  oi 
retaliation  must  withhold  the  hands  of  the  oppressor 
where  there  is  no  regular  law  to  check  daring  violence. 
But  though  all  this  may  be  granted,  and  though  we  may 
allow  that,  such  having  been  the  case  of  the  Highlands  in 
thn  days  of  the  prisoner's  fathers,  many  of  the  opinions 
and  sentiments  must  still  continue  to  influence  the  present 
generation,  it  cannot,  and  ought  not,  even  in  this  most 
painful  case,  to  alter  the  administration  of  the  law,  either 
in  your  hands,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  or  in  mine.  The 
first  object  of  civilization  is  to  place  the  general  protec- 
tion of  the  law,  equally  administered,  in  the  room  of  that 
wild  justice,  which  every  man  cut  and  carved  for  himself, 
according  to  the  length  of  his  sword  and  the  strength  ot 
his  arm.  The  law  says  to  the  subjects,  with  a  voice  only 
inferior  to  that  of  the  Deity,  '  Vengeance  is  mine.'  TK^ 
instant  that  there  is  time  for  passion  to  cool,  and  reasoiv 
to  interpose,  an  injured  party  must  become  aware,  that 
the  law  assumes  the  exclusive  cognizance  of  the  right 
and  wrong  betwixt  the  parties,  and  opposes  her  inviolable 
buckler  to  every  attempt  of  the  private  party  to  right 
himself.  I  repeat,  that  this  unhappy  man  ought  personal- 
ly to  be  the  object  rather  of  our  pity  than  our  abhorrence, 
for  he  failed  in  his  ignorance,  and  from  mistaken  notions 
of  honour.  But  his  crime  is  not  the  less  that  of  murder, 
gentlemen,  and,  in  your  high  and  important  office,  it  is 
your  duty  so  to  find.  Englishmen  have  their  angry  pas- 
sions as  well  as  Scots ;  and  should  this  man's  action  re 
mam  unpunished,  you  may  unsheath,  under  various  pre- 
tences, a  thousand  daggers  betwixt  the  Land's-end  and 
the  Orkneys." 

The  venerable  Judge  thus  ended  what,  to  judge  Ity  nis 
apparent  emotion,  and  by  the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes, 

VOL.    I 


198  CHRONICLES    OF 

was  really  a  painful  task.  The  jury,  according  to  his 
instructions,  brought  in  a  verdict  of  Guilty  ;  and  Robin 
Oig  M'Combich,  alias  M'Gregor,  was  sentenced  to  death, 
and  left  for  execution,  which  took  place  accordingly.  He 
met  his  fate  with  great  firmness,  and  acknowledged  the 
justice  of  his  sentence.  But  he  repelled  indignantly  the 
observations  of  those  who  accused  him  of  attacking  an 
unarmed  man.  "  I  give  a  life  for  the  life  1  took,"  he 
said,  '*  and  what  can  I  do  more 


NOTES  TO 
CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANOJYGATE, 


1.  Page  viii.    These  manuscripts  are  at  present  (August  Id31)  advertised 
"or  public  sale,  which  is  au  addition,  though  a  small  one,  to  other  annoyances. 

2.  Page  viii.     One  of  the  Supreme  Judges  of  Scotland,  termed  Lords  of 
Council  and  Session. 

3.  Page  x.     See,  for  some  further  particulars,  the  notes  to  Old  Mortality, 
in  the  present  collective  edition. 

4.  Page  x.    The  late  Mrs.  Goldie. 

5.  Page  xii.     James  Chalmers,  Esq.  solicitor  at  law,  London,  who  died 
during  the  publication  of  the  present  edition  of  these  Novels.     (A'ig.  1831.) 

6.  Pagexiv.     Lord  Kinedder  died  in  August  1822.     Eheu!    (Aug.  1831.) 

7.  Page  xv.     I  would  particularly  intimate  the  Kaim  of  Uric,  on  the  east- 
ern coast  of  Scotland,  as  having  suggested  an   idea   for  the  tower  called 
Wolf's-Crag,  which  the  public  more  generally  identified  with  the  ancieut 
tower  of  Fast-Castle. 

8.  Page  xvi.     Not  altogether  impossible,  when  it  is  considered  that  I  have 
been  at  the  bar  since  1792.     (Aug.  1831.) 

9.  Page  17.      HOLTROOD.— The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  Hector 
Boece's  narrative  of  the  original  foundation  of  the  famous  abbey  of  Holy- 
rood,  or  the  Holy  Cross,  as  given  in  Bellenden's  translation: 

"  Et'tir  death  of  Alexander  the  first,  his  brothir  David  come  out  of  Ingland, 
and  wes  crownit  at  Scone,  the  yeir  of  God  MCXXIV  yeiris.  and  did  gret  jus- 
tice, eftir  his  coronation,  in  all  partis  of  his  realme.  He  had  na  wens  during 
the  time  of  King  Hary;  and  wes  s<.  pietuous,  that  he  sal  daylie  in  judge- 
ment, to  caus  his  pure  commonis  to  have  justice  ;  and  causit  the  aclionis  of 
his  noblis  to  by  decidit  be  his  othir  jugis.  He  gart  ilk  juge  redres  the  skaithis 
that  come  to  the  party  be  his  wrang  sentence  ;  throw  quhilk,  he  decorit  his 
realm  with  moiiy  nobil  actis.  and  ejeckit  the  vennomus  custome  of  riotus 
cheir.  quhilk  wes  inducit  afore  be  Inglismen,  quhen  thay  com  with  Queue 
Margaret;  for  the  samin  wes  noisum  to  al  gua  maneris,  makand  his  pepil 
tender  and  efTeminat. 

"  In  the  fourt  yeir  of  his  regne,  this  nobill  prince  come  to  visie  the  madin 
Castell  of  Edinburgh.  Al  this  time,  all  the  boundis  of  Scolland  were  ful  of 
woddis,  lesouris,  and  medois ;  for  the  countre  wes  more  gevin  to  store  of 
t>estiall,  lhan  ouy  productioun  of  coruis  ;  and  aboul  this  castell  was  ane  grcl 
forest,  full  of  haris,  hindis,  toddis,  and  sicklike  maner  of  beistis.  Now  was 
ihe  Rude  Day  cumin,  called  the  Exaltation  of  the  Croce ;  and,  becaus  the 
jainin  wes  a«e  hie  solempne  dav,  the  king  past  to  his  contemplation.  Eftir 
ihe  messis  wer  clone  with  maist  solempnilie  and  reverence,  comperit  afore 
him  nony  young  and  insolent  baronis  of  Scotland,  richt  desirus  to  hu>f  sum 


200  NOTES  TO  THE 

plesur  and  solace,  he  chace  of  hnndis  in  the  said  forest.  At  this  time  weg 
with  the  king  ane  man  of  singulare  and  dcvoit  life,  namit  Alkwine,  channoii 
uflir  the  ordour  of  Sanct  Augustine,  quhilk  wes  lang  time  confessi.dre,  afore, 
lo  King-  David  in  Ingland,  tlie  time  that  he  wes  Erie  of  Huntii.gtoun  and 
Northumbirland.  This  religious  man  dissuaclit  the  king,  be  moi.j  reasonis, 
to  pas  to  this  huntis  ;  and  allt-git  the  day  wes  so  solempne.  be  reverence  of 
the  haly  croce,  that  he  sulil  gif  him  erar,  for  that  day,  to  contemplation,  than 
ony  othir  exersition.  Npchiheles,  his  dissuasion  is  lilill  avalit ;  for  the  king 
wes  finallie  so  provokit,  be  inoportune  solicitatioun  of  his  baronis,  ihat  he 
past,  nochtwithstanding  the  solempnite  of  this  day,  to  his  hounus.  At  last, 
quhen  he  wes  cumin  throw  the  vail  that  lyis  to  the  gret  eist  fra  tne  said  cas- 
tell,  quhare  now  lyis  the  Canongait,  the  staik  past  throw  the  vcod  with  sic 
noyis  and  din  of  rachis  and  bugillis,  that  all  the  bestis  were  rasit  fra  tha'ir 
dennis.  Now  wes  the  king  cumin  to  the  lute  of  the  crag,  and  ail  his  nobilis 
scverit,  heir  and  thair,  fra  him,  at  thair  game  and  solace  ;  quhen  suddenlie 
apperit  to  his  sicht,  the  fairist  harl  that  evir  wes  sene  afore  with  tevaiul  crea- 
ture. The  noyis  and  din  of  this  hart  rinnand,  as  appcrit,  with  awful  and 
braid  tindis,  maid  the  kingis  hors  so  effrayit,  that  na  renzeis  micnt  hald  him; 
bot  ran,  perforce,  ouir  mire  and  mossis,  away  with  the  king.  Nochtheles,  the 
hart  followit  so  fast,  that  he  dang  baith  the  king  and  his  hors  to  the  grojnd. 
Than  the  king  kest  abak  his  hanais  hetwix  the  tindis  of  this  ban,  to  haif  savit 
him  fra  the  strak  thairof;  and  the  haly  croce  slaid,  incontinent,  in  his  handis. 
The  hart  fled  away  with  gret  violence,  and  evanist  in  the  same  place  quhare 
now  springis  the  Rude  Well.  The  pepil  richt  afl'rayitly,  returnit  lo  him  out 
of  all  partis  of  the  wod,  to  comfort  him  efter  his  trubill;  and  fell  on  kneis, 
devotly  adoring  the  haly  croce  ;  for  it  was  not  cumin  but  sum  hevinly  provi- 
dence, as  weill  apperis;"  for  thair  is  na  man  can  schaw  of  quhat  mater  it  is  of, 
metal  or  tre.  Sone  eftir,  the  king  -eturnit  to  his  caslell  ;  and  >n  the  nicht  fol- 
lowing, he  was  admonist,  be  ane  vision  in  hissleip,  to  big  ane  ibbay  of  chan- 
nonis  regular  in  the  same  place  quhare  he  gat  the  croce.  Als  sone  as  he  was 
awalkinnit,  he  schew  his  visione  to  Alkwine,  his  confessoure  ;  and  he  na  thing 
suspended  his  gud  mind,  bot  erar  inflammit  him  with  maist  fervent  devotion 
thairto.  The  king,  incontinent,  send  his  traist  servandis  in  F'ance  and  Flan- 
deris,  and  brocht  richt  crafty  masonis  to  big  this  abbay ;  syne  dedicat  it  in  the 
honour  of  this  haly  croce.  The  croce  remanit  coniinewally  in  the  said  abbay, 
to  the  time  of  King  David  Bruce  ;  quhilk  was  unhappily  lane  with  it  at  Du- 
rame,  quhare  it  is  haldin  yit  in  gret  veneration." — BOECE,  book  12,  cli.  16. 

It  is  by  no  means  clear  what  Scottish  prince  first  built  a  palace,  properly 
so  called,  in  the  precincts  of  this  renowned  seat  of  sanctity.  The  abbey,  en- 
dowed by  successive  sovereigns  and  many  powerl'ul  nobles  with  munificent 
gifts  of  lands  and  tithes,  came,  in  process  of  time,  to  be  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  ecclesiastical  corporations  of  Scotland ;  and  as  earlycas  tho 
days  of  Robert  Bruce,  parliaments  were  held  occasionally  within  its  buildings. 
We  have  evidence  that  James  IV.  had  a  royal  lodging  adjoining  to  the  clois- 
ter ;  but  it  is  generally  agreed  that  the  first  considerable  edifice  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  royal  family  erected  here  was  that  of  James  V.,  anno 
1525,  great  part  of  which  still  remains,  and  forms  the  north-western  side  of 
the  existing  palace.  The  more  modern  buildings  which  complete  the  quad 
rangle  were  erected  by  King  Charles  II.  The  name  of  the  old  conventual 
church  was  used  as  the  parish  church  of  the  Canongate  from  the  period  of 
the  Reformation,  until  James  II.  claimed  it  for  his  chapel  royal,  and  had  it 
fitted  up  accordingly  in  a  style  of  splendour  which  grievously  outraged  the 
leelings  of  his  Presbyterian  subjects.  The  roof  of  this  fragment  of  a  once 
magnificent  church  fell  in  in  tiie  year  1768,  and  it  has  remained  ever  since  in 
A  state  of  desolation. — For  fuller  particulars,  see  the  Provincial  Antiquities 
tf  Scotla?id,  or  the  History  of  Hoiijrood,  by  MK.  CHARLES  MA  OKIE. 

The  greater  part  of  this  ancient  palace  is  now  again  occupied  by  his  Ma- 
jesty Charles  the  Tenth  of  France,  and  the  rest  of  that  illustrious  family, 
tthich ,  in  former  ages  so  closely  connected  by  marriage  and  alliance  with  tho 


CHRONICLES   OF  THE   CANONGATE.  201 

house  of  Stuart,  seems  to  have  been  destined  to  run  a  similar  career  of  mis- 
fortune.    Ktqmticaiu  in  pace  ! 

10.  Page  30.    This  Club,  of  which  Ilie  Author  of  Waverley  has  the  hon- 
our to  be  President,  n^j  instituted  ir  February  1823,  for  (he  purpose  of  pric- 
ing and  publishing  works  illustrative  of  the  history,  literature,  and  antiquities 
of  Scotland.     It  continues  to  prosper,  and  has  already  rescued  from  oblivion 

'  many  curious  iiiaierials  of  Scottish  History. 

11.  Page  30.     The  ancient  Norman  family  of  the  Sommervilles  came  intc 
this  island  with  William  the  Conqueror,  and  established  one  branch  in  Glou- 
cestershire, another  in  Scotland.     After  the  lapse  of/00  years,  the  remaining 
possessions  of  these  two  branches  were  united  in  the  person  ri'  the  late  L<  ra 
Sommerville,  on  the  death  of  his  English  kinsman,  the  we''-known  aull.oi 
of  "  The  Chase." 

12.  Page  38.     See  the  opening;  scene  of  the  first  part  of  Shakspeare's 
Henry  IV? 

13.  Page  47.     The  following  extract  from  Swift's  Life  of  Creichton  givi  « 
the  particulars  of  the  bloody  scene  alluded  to  in  the  text : — 

"  Having  drank  hard  one  night,  I  (Creichton)  dreamed  that  I  had  found 
Captain  David  Steele.  a  notorious  rebel,  in  one  of  the  five  farmers'  houses 
on  a  mountain  in  the  shire  of  Clydesdale,  and  parish  of  Lismahago,  within 
eight  miles  of  Hamilton,  a  place  that  I  was  well  acquainted  with.  This  man 
was  head  of  the  rebels,  since"  the  affair  of  Airs-Moss  ;  having  succeeded  to 
Hackston,  who  had  been  there  taken,  and  afterward  hanged,  as  the  reader 
has  already  heard  ;  for,  as  to  Robert  Hamilton,  who  was  then  Commander- 
in-chief  at  Bothwell  Bridge,  he  appeared  no  more  among  them,  but  fled,  as  it 
was  believed,  to  Holland. 

"  Steele,  and  his  father  before  him,  held  a  farm  in  the  estate  of  Hamilton, 
within  two  or  three  miles  of  that  town.  When  he  betooK  himself  to  arms,  the 
farm  lay  waste,  and  the  Duke  could  find  no  other  person  who  would  venture 
to  take  it ;  whereupon  his  Grace  sent  several  messages  to  Steele.  to  know  the 
reason  why  he  kept  the  farm  waste.  The  Duke  received  no  other  answer, 
than  that  he  would  keep  it  waste,  in  spite  of  him  and  the  king  too  ;  where- 
upon his  Grace,  at  whose  table  I  had  always  the  honour  to  be  a  welcome 
guest,  desired  1  would  use  my  endeavours  to  destroy  that  rogue,  and  I  would 
oblige  him  for  ever. 

*******  ** 

"  I  return  to  my  story.  When  I  awaked  out  of  my  dream,  as  1  had  done 
before  in  the  affair  of  Wilson,  (and  I  desire  the  same  apology  I  made  in  the 
introduction  to  these  Memoirs  may  serve  for  both,)  I  presently  rose. and  order- 
ed thirty-six  dragoons  to  be  at  the  place  appointed  bv  break  of  day.  When 
we  arrived  thither,  I  sent  a  party  to  each  of  the  five  farmers'  houses.  This 
villain  Steele  had  murdered  above  forty  of  the  king's  subjects  in  cold  blood  ; 
and,  as  1  was  informed,  had  often  laid  snares  to  entrap  me;  but  it  happened, 
that  although  he  usually  kept  a  gang  to  attend  him,  yet  at  this  time  he  had 
none,  when  he  stood  in  the  greatest  need.  One  of  the  party  found  him  in  one 
of  the  farmers'  houses,  just  as  I  happened  to  dream.  1  he  dragoons  first 
searched  all  the  rooms  below  without  success,  till  two  of  them  hearing  some- 
oody  stirring  over  their  heads,  went  up  a  pair  of  turnpike  stairs.  Steele  had 
put  on  his  clothes,  while  the  search  was  making  below  ;  the  chamber  where 
he  lay  was  called  the  Chamber  of  Deese,*  which  is  the  name  given  to  a  room 
where  the  laird  lies,  when  he  conies  to  a  tenant's  house.  Steele  f.uddenlj- 

*  Or  chamber  of  slate ;  so  called  from  the  dais,  or  canopy  and  elevation 
of  floor,  which  distinguished  the  part  of  old  halls  which  was  occupied  by  those 
of  hig  rank.  Hence  the  phrase  was  obliquely  used  to  signify  state  in  general. 


202  NOTES   TO  THE 

»penin»  "Jae  door,  fired  a  blunderbuss  down  at  the  two  dragoons,  a  they  \vera 
coming  ap  tlie  stairs;  but  the  bullets  grazing  against  the  side  of  the  turnpike, 
only  wounded,  and  did  not  kill  them.  Then  Steele  violently  threw  him -elf 
down  the  stairs  among  them,  and  made  towards  tit*  c'o<ir  to  save  his  life,  bu4. 
lost  it  upon  the  spot;  for  the  dragoons  who  guard»->l  lh-'  house  dispu'ched  him 
with  their  broadswords.  I  was  not  with  the  party  when  IIP  was  killed,  being 
at  that  time  employed  in  searching  at  one  of  the  other  houses,  but  I  soon 
found  what  had  happened,  by  hearing  the  noise  of  the  shot  made  with  the 
blunderbuss  ;  from  whence  I  returned  straight  to  Lanark,  and  immediately 
sent  one  of  the  dragoons  express  to  General  Drummond  at  Edinburgh."— 
Swiffs  Works.  Vol.  Xll.  (Memoirs  of  Captain  John  CreichtonJ  pages  5"1 
—59,  Edit.  Edinb.  1824. 

Wodrow  gives  a  different  account  of  this  exploit—"  In  December  this  year. 
(1686,)  David  Steil,  in  the  parish  of  Lismahagow,  was  surprised  in  the  fields 
by  Lieutenant  Creichton,  and  after  his  surrender  of  himself  on  quarters,  ho 
was  in  a  very  little  time  mo«t  barbarously  shot  and  lies  buried  in  the  church- 
yard there." 

14.  Page  76.     The  ingenious  Mr.  R.  CHAMBERS'S  Traditions  of  Edin- 
Durgh  give  the  following  account  of  the  forgotten  rasp  or  nsp. 

"  This  house  had  a  pin  or  risp  at  the  door,  instead  of  the  more  modern 
convenience,  a  knocker.  The  pin,  rendered  interesting  by  the  figure  which 
it  makes  in  Scottish  song,  was  formed  of  a  small  rod  of  iron,  twisted  or 
notched,  which  was  placed  perpendicularly,  starting  out  a  little  from  the  door, 
and  bore  a  small  ring  of  the  same  metal,  which  an  applicant  for  admittance 
drew  rapidly  up  and  down  the  nicies,  so  as  to  produce  a  grating  sound. 
Sometimes  the  rod  was  simply  stretched  across  the  vizzying  hole,  a  conve- 
nient aperture  through  which  the  porter  could  take  cognisance  of  the  person 
applying  ;  in  which  case  it  acted  also  as  a  stanchion.  These  were  almost  all 
disused  about  sixtv  years  ago,  when  knockers  were  generally  substituted  as 
more  genteel.  But  knockers  at  that  time  did  not  long  remain  in  repute, 
though  they  have  never  been  altogether  superseded,  even  by  bells,  in  the  Old 
Town.  The  comparative  merit  of  knockers  and  pins  was  for  a  long  time  a 
subject  of  doubt,  and  many  knockers  got  their  heads  twisted  ofTin  the  coarse 
of  the  dispute.  CHAMBERS'S  Trad itions  of  Edinburgh. 

15.  Page  78.     The  Rev.  Mr.  Bowles  derives  the  name  of  tnese  crags,  as 
of  the  Episcopal  city  in  the  west  of  England,  from  the  same  root  ;  both,  in 
his  opinion,  which  he  very  ably  defends  and  illustrates,  having  been  the  sites 
of  druidical  temples. 

16.  Page  78.     The  well-known  original  designation  of  the  gallant  4i.d 
Regiment.     Being  the  first  corps  raised  tor  the  royal  service  in  the  Highlands; 
and  allowed  to  retain  their  national  garb,  they  were  thus  named  irom  the 
contrast  which  their  dark  tartans  furnished  to  the  scarlet  and  white  of  the 
other  regiments. 

17.  Page  79      Shakspeare's  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  IV.  Sc.  I. 

18.  Page  83.     Susannah  Kennedy,  daughter  of  Sir   Archibald  Kennedy 
of  Cullean,  Bart,  by  Elizabeth  Leslv,  daughter  of  David  Lord  Newark,  third 
wife  of  Alexander  9th  Earl  of  Egli'ngton,  and  mother  of  the  10th  nnd   llth 
Earls.     She  survived   her  husband,  who  died  1729,  no  less  than   fifty-seven 
years,  and  died  March  1780,  in  her  91st  year.      Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle 
fehepherd,   published   1726,  is  dedicated  to   her,  in  verse,  by-  Hamilton  of 
Bangour 

Ttie  following  account  of  this  distinguished  lady  is  taken  from  Bosive'I's 
Life  of  Johnson  by  Mr.  Croker. 


CHRONICLES    OF    THE    CANONGAT!  203 

"  Ladj-  Margaret  Dalrymple,  only  daughter  of  John  Earl  of  Stair,  married 
Jj  1700,  "to  Hugh,  third  Earl  of  Loudouu.  She  died  in  1777,  aged  one  hun- 
i'fd.  Of  this  venerable  lady,  and  of  the  Countess  of  Eglinloune.  whom 
Johnson  visited  next  day,  he  thus  speaks  in  his  Journey. — '  Length  of  life  is 
distributed  impartially  to  very  different  modes  of  life,  in  very  different  cli- 
mates 5  and  the  mountains  have  no  greater  examples  of  age  I'han  the  Low. 
lands,  where  I  was  introduced  to  two  ladies  of  high  quality,  oiiP  of  whom 
(Lady  Loudoun)  in  her  ninety-fourth  year,  presided  at  her  table  with  the  full 
exercise  of  all  her  powers  ;  and  the  other,  (Lady  Eglintoun,)  had  attained 
her  eighty-fourth  year,  without  any  diminution  of  her  vivacity,  au.H  liule  reason 
to  accuse  time  of  depredations  on  her  beauty.'  " 

**»»»#•» 

"  Lady  Eglintoune,  though  she  was  now  in  her  eighty-fifth  year,  and  ad 
lived  in  the  retirement  of  the  country  for  almost  half  a  century,  was  still  a 
very  agreeable  woman.  She  was  of  the  noble  house  of  Kennedy,  and  had 
all  the  elevation  which  the  consciousness  of  such  birth  inspires.  Her  figure 
was  majestic,  her  manners  high-bred,  her  reading  extensive,  and  her  conver- 
sation elegant.  She  had  been  the  admiration  of  the  gay  circles  of  life,  and 
the  patroness  of  poets.  Dr.  Johnson  was  delighted  with  his  reception  here. 
Her  principles  in  church  and  state  were  congenialwith  his.  She  knew  all  his 
merit,  and  had  heard  much  of  him  from  her  son,  Earl  Alexander,  who  loved 
to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  men  of  talents  in  every  department." 
****»»» 

"  In  the  course  of  our  conversation  this  day,  it  came  out  that  Lady  Eglin- 
toune was  married  the  year  before  Dr.  Johnson  was  born ;  upon  which  she 
graciously  said  to  him,  that  she  might  have  been  his  mother,  and  that  she  now 
adopted  him ;  and  when  we  were  going  away,  she  embraced  him,  saying,, 
'My  dear  son,  farewell !'  My  friend  was  much  pleased  with  this  day's  enter- 
taiument,  and  owned  that  I  had  done  well  to  force  him  out." 
*##*#»» 

"  At  Sir  Alexander  Dick's,  from  that  absence  of  mind  to  which  every  man 
is  at  times  subject,  I  told,  in  a  blundering  manner,  Lady  Eglintoune's  com- 
plimentary adoption  of  Dr.  Johnson  as  her  son ;  for  T  unfortunately  stated 
lhat  her  ladyship  adopted  him  as  her  son,  in  consequence  of  her  having  been 
married  the  year  after  he  was  born.  Dr.  Johnson  instantly  corrected  me. 
'  Sir,  don't  you  perceive  that  you  are  defaming  the  Countess  1  For,  supposing 
me  to  be  her  son,  and  that  she  was  not  married  till  the  year  after  my  birth,  I 
must  have  been  her  natural  son.'  A  young  lady  of  quality  who  was  present, 
very  handsomely  said,  '  Might  not  the  son  have  justified  the  fault  ?'  My 
f'iend  was  much  flattered  by  this  compliment,  which  he  never  forgot.  When 
in  more  lhan  ordinary  spirits,  and  talking  of  his  journey  in  Scotland,  he  has 
called  to  me, '  Boswell,  what  was  it  that  the  young  lady  of  quality  said  of  me 
at  Sir  Alexander  Dick's  ?'  Nobody  will  doubt  that  I  was  happy  in  repeat- 
ing it." 

19.  Page  85.    The  Duke  of  York,  afterwards  James  II.,  frequently  re- 
sided in  Holyrood-house,  when  his  religion  rendered  him  an  object  of  saspi- 
ciou  to  the  English  Parliament. 

20.  Page  87.    The  incident  here  alluded  to  is  thus  narrated  in  Nichols1 
Progresses  of  James  I.,  Vol.  III.  p.  306. 

"  The  family"  (of  Winton)  ''owed  its  first  elevation  to  the  union  of  Sir 
Christopher  Seton  with  a  sister  of  King  Robert  Bruce.  With  King  James 
VI.  they  acquired  great  favour,  who,  having  created  his  brother  Earl  of  Dun- 
fermline  in  1599,  made  Robert,  seventh  Lord  Seton.  Earl  of  Winton  in  1600. 
Before  the  King's  accession  to  the  English  throne,  his  Majesty  and  the  Clucfn 
were  frequently  at  Selon,  where  the  Earl  kept  a  verv  hospitable  table,  at 
which  all  foreigners  of  quality  were  entertained  on  their  visits  to  Scotland 
Hi*  Lords  lip  died  in  1603,  and  was  buried  on  the  5tn  of  April,  oa  the  verj 


201  NOTES    TO    THE 

day  the  King  left  Edinburgh  for  England.     His  Majesty,  we  are  (old. 


21.  Page  88.     EXTRACT  OF  JOURNAL  TO  STELLA. — "  1  dined  to-day 

!12ili  March.  1712.)  with  Lord  Treasurer  and  two  gentlemen  of  tiie  High 
ands  of  Sco'land,  yet  very  polite  men." 

SWIFT'S  Works,  Vol.  III.  p.  7.  Edin.  1824. 

22.  Page  88.     The  2  of  Oclr:  (1603)  Allaster  MacGregor  of  Glenstrae 
tane  be  the  laird  Arkynles,  bot  escapit  againe  ;  but  after  taken  be  the  Earle 
of  Argyll  the  4  of  Januarii,  and  brought  to  Edr:  the  9  of  Januar:  1G04,  wt:  18 
mae  of  lies  friendes  JVIacGregors.     lie  wes  convoyit  to  Berwick  he  the  gaird. 
conform  to  ihe  Earl's  |>romes  ;  for  he  promesit  to  put  him  out  of  Scottis  grund  : 
Sua   lie  keipit  an  Hielandman's  promes,  in  respect  he  sent  the  gaird  to  con- 
voy him  out  of  Scotlis   grund  ;  bot  yai  wer  not  directit  to  pain  wl:  him,  bot 
to  fetche  him  bak  againe.     The  18  of  Januar.  he  cam  at  evin  againe  to  Ed- 
inburghe  ;  and  upone  the  20  day.  he  was  hangit  at  the  crosse,  and   ij  of  his 
freindes  and  name,  upon  ane  gallows  :  himself  being  chiefl',  he  was  hangit  his 
awin  higln  above  the  rest  of  hesfreindis. — BIRRKLL'S  Diary,  fin  DALZELL'S 
fragments  of  Scottish  History,)  p.  60-1. 

23.  Page  95.     This   venerable   and   hospitable   gentleman's   name   was 
Maclntyre. 

24.  Page  95.     "  Loch  Awe,  upon  the  banks  of  which  the  scene  of  action 
took  place,  is  thirty-four  miles  in  length.     The  north  side  is  bounded  by  wid» 
niuirs  and  inconsiderable  hills,  which  occupy  an  extent  of  country  from  twelve 
to  twenty  miles  in  breadth,  and  the  whole  of  this  space  is  enclosed  as  by  cir 
cumvallation.     Upon  the  north  it  is  barred  by  Loch  Eitive,  on  the  south  by 
Loch  Awe,  and  on  the  east  by  the  dreadful   pass  of  Brandir,  through  wMc* 
an  arm  of  the  latter  lake  opens,  at  about  four  miles  from  its  eastern  extremity 
and  discharges  the  river  Awe  into  the  former.     The  pass  is  about  three  mi'les 
in  length  ;  its  east  side  is  bounded  by  the  almost  inaccessible  steeps  which  form 
the  base  of  the  vast  and  rugged  mountain  of  Cruachan      The  crags  rise  in 
some  places  almost  perpendicularly  from  the  water,  and  for  their  chief  extent 
show  no  space  nor  level  at  their  feet,  but  a  rough  and  narrow  edge  of  stony 
beach.     Upon  the  whole  of  these  cliffs  grows  a  thick    and  interwoven  wood 
of  all  kinds  of  trees,  both  timber,  dwarf,  and  coppice  ;  no  track  existed  through 
tne  wilderness,  but  a  winding  path,  which  sometimes  crept  along  the  precip- 
itous height,  and  sometimes  descended  in  a  straight  pass  along  the  margin 
of  the  water.     Near  (he   extremity  of  the  defile,  a  narrow  level  opened  be- 
tween the  water  and  the  crag;  but  a  great  part  of  this,  as  well  as  of  the  pre- 
ceding steeps,  was  formerly  enveloped  in  a  thicket,  which  showed  little  facility 
to  the  feet  of  any  but  the  martins  and  wild  cats.     Along  the  west  side  of  the 
pass  lies  a  wall  of  sheer  and  barren  crags.     From  behind  they  rise  in  rough 
eneven,  and  heathy  declivities,  out  of  the  wide  muir  before  mentioned,  be- 
tween Loch  Eitive  and  Loch  Awe;  but  in  front  they  terminate  abruptly  in 
the  most  frightful  precipices,  which  form  the  whole  side  of  the  pass,  and  de- 
scend at  one  fall  into  the  water  which  (ills  its  trough.     At  the  north  end  of  the 
harrier,  and  at  Ihe  termination  of  the   pass,  lies  that  part  of  the  cliff  which  is 
called  Craiganuni  ;  at  its   foot   the   arm   of  the  lake   gradually   contracts  its 
water  to  a  very  narrow  space,  and  at  length  terminates  at  two  rocks  (calico 
the  Rocks  of  I'randir),  which  form  a  strait  channel,  something  resembling  thd 
lock  of  a,canal.     From  this  outlet  there  is  a  continual  descent  towards  Locn 
Eitive,  and  from  hence  the  river  Awe  pours  out  its  current  in  a  furious  stream, 
foaming  over  i  bed  broken  with  holes,  and  cumbered  v/ith  masses  of  granite 
and  wSinstoni  . 


CHRONICLES    OF    THE    LANONGATE.  -1* 

"  If  ever  there  was  a  bridge  near  Craiganuni  in  ancient  times,  it  must  h&  '» 
been  at  the  Rocks  of  Brandir.  From  the  days  of  Wallace  to  those  of  Go- 
era!  Wade,  there  were  never  passages  of  this  kind  but  in  places  of  grea*.  ne- 
cessity, too  narrow  for  a  boat,  and  too  wide  for  a  leap  ;  even  then  they  were 
but  an  unsafe  footway  formed  of  the  trunks  of  trees  placed  transversely  from 
rock  to  rock,  unstripped  of  their  bark,  and  destitute  of  either  plank  or  rail. 
For  such  a  structure,  there  is  nr  place  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Craignnuni. 
but  at  the  rocks  abovemeniioned.  In  the  lake  and  on  the  river,  the  water  is 
far  too  wide;  but  at  the  strait,  the  space  is  not  greater  than  might  be  crossed 
by  a  tall  mountain  pine,  and  the  rocks  on  either  side  are  formed  by  nature 
like  a  pier.  That  this  point  was  always  a  place  of  passage,  is  rendered  proba- 
ble by  its  facility,  and  the  use  of  recent  times.  Il  if  not  long  since  it  was  the 
common  gate  of  the  country  on  either  side  the  river  and  the  pass  :  Ihe  mode 
of  cross' ug  is  yet  in  the  memory  of  people  living,  and  was  performed  by  a 
ittle  currach  moored  on  either  side  the  water,  and  a  stout  cable  fixed  across 
the  stream  from  bank  to  bank,  by  which  the  passengers  drew  themselves 
across  in  the  manner  still  practised  in  places  of  the  same  nature,  ii  is  no 
argument  against  the  existence  of  a  bridge  in  former  times,  that  the  above 
method  only  existed  in  ours,  rather  than  a  passage  of  that  kind,  which  would 
seem  the  more  improved  expedient.  The  contradiction  is  sulh'cienlly  ac~ 
counted  for  by  the  decay  of  timber  in  the  neighbourhood.  Of  old,  both  oaks 
and  firs  of  an  immense  size  abounded  within  a  very  inconsiderable  distance: 
but  it  is  now  many  years  since  the  destruction  of  the  forests  of  Glen  Eitive 
and  Glen  Urcha  has  deprived  the  country  of  all  the  trees  of  sufficient  size  to 
cross  the  strait  of  Brandir;  and  it  is  probable,  lhat  the  currach  was  not  intro- 
duced till  the  want  of  timber  had  disenabled  the  inhabitants  of  the  country 
from  maintaining  a  bridge.  It  only  further  remains  to  be  noticed,  lhat  at  some 
distance  below  the  Rocks  of  Brandir,  there  was  formerly  a  ford,  which  was 
used  for  cattle  in  the  memory  of  people  living;  from  the  narrowness  of  the 
passage,  the  force  of  the  stream,  and  the  broken  bed  of  the  river,  it  was,  how- 
ever, a  dangerous  pass,  and  could  only  be  attempted  with  safety  at  leisure 
and  by  experience." — Notes  to  the  Bridal  of  Caolcliairn. 

25.  Page  96.  BATTLE  BETWIXT  THE  ARMIES  OK  THE  BRUCE  ANE 
MACUOUOAL  OF  LORN. — "  But  the  King,  whose  dear-bought  experience  in 
war  had  taught  him  extreme  caution,  remained  in  the  Braes  of  Balquidder 
till  he  had  acquired  by  his  spies  and  outskirries  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
disposition  of  the  army  of  Lorn,  and  the  intention  of  its  leader.  He  then  di 
vided  his  force  into  two  columns,  intrusting  the  command  of  Ihe  first,  in  which 
he  placed  his  ateliers  and  lightest  armed  troops,  to  Sir  James  Douglas,  whilst 
he  himself  took  the  leading  of  the  other,  which  consisted  principally  of  his 
knights  and  barons.  On  approaching  the  defile,  Bruce  despatched  Sir  James 
Douglas  by  a  pathw.  y  which  the  enemy  had  neglected  to  occupy,  with  direc- 
tions to  advance  silen.ly,  and  gain  the  heights  above  and  in  front  of  tne  hilly 
ground  where  Ihe  men  of  Lorn  were  concealed  ;  and,  having  ascertained  that 
this  movement  had  been  executed  with  success,  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
his  own  division,  and  fearlessly  led  his  men  into  the  defile.  Here,  prepared 
as  he  was  for  what  was  to  take  place,  it  was  difficult  lo  prevent  a  temporary 
panic,  when  the  yell  which,  to  this  day,  invariably  precedes  the  assault  of  thV 
mountaineer,  burst  from  the  rugged  bosom  of  Ben  Cruachan  ;  and  the  wood.* 
which,  the  moment  before,  had  waved  in  silence  and  soiilude.  gave  forth  their 
!)irth  of  steel-clad  warriors,  and.  in  an  instant,  became  instinct  with  the  dread- 
ful vitality  of  war.  But  although  appalled  and  checked  for  a  brief  space  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  assault,  and  the  masses  of  rock  which  the  enemy  rolled 
down  from  the  precipices,  Bruce,  at  the  head  of  his  division,  pressed  up  the  side 
of  the  mountain.  Whilst  this  party  assaulted  the  men  of  Lorn  with  the  utmost 
lury,  Sir  James  Douglas  and  his  parly  shouted  suddenly  upon  the  I  eights  iu 
their  front,  showering  down  their  arrows  upon  ihem  ;  and,  when  ihes  ;  niKxiii-i 
VOL.  |. 


206  NOTES    TO    THE 

were  exhausted,  attacking  them  with  their  swords  and  battle-axes.  The  con 
sequence  of  such  an  attack,  both  in  front  and  rear,  was  the  total  discomfiture 
of  the  army  of  Lorn  ;  and  the  circumstances  to  which  this  chief  had  so  con 
fidcntly  looked  forward,  as  rendering'  the  destruction  of  Bruce  almost  inevit- 
able, were  now  turned  with  fatal  effect  against  himself.  His  great  superiority 
of  numbers  cumbered  and  impeded  his  movements.  Thrust,  by  the  double 
assault,  and  by  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  ground,  into  such  narrow  room  as 
the  pass  afforded,  and  driven  to  Airy  by  finding  themselves  cut  to  pieces  in 
detail,  without  power  of  resistance,  the  men  of  Lorn  fled  towards  Loch  Eitive, 
where  a  bridge  thrown  over  the  Awe,  and  supported  upon  two  immense  rocks, 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Rocks  of  Brandir,  formed  the  solitar\'  communi- 
cation between  the  side  of  the  river  where  the  battle  took  place,  and  the 
country  of  Lorn.  Their  object  was  to  gain  the  bridge,  which  was  composed 
entirely  of  wood,  and,  having  availed  themselves  of  it  in  their  retreat,  to  de- 
stroy it,  and  thus  throw  the  impassable  torrent  of  the  Awe  between  them  and 
their  enemies.  But  their  intention  was  instantly  detected  by  Douglas,  who, 
rushing  down  from  the  high  grounds  at  the  head  of  his  archers  and  light-armed 
foresters,  attacked  the  body  of  the  mountaineers,  which  had  occupied  the 
bridge,  and  drove  them  from  it  with  great  slaughter,  so  that  Bruce  and  his 
division,  on  coming  up,  passed  it  without  molestation  ;  and,  this  last  resource 
being  taken  from  tnem.  the  army  of  Lorn  were,  in  a  few  hours,  literally  cut  to 
pieces,  whilst  their  chief,  who  occupied  Loch  Eitive  with  his  fleet,  saw,  from 
his  ships,  the  discomfiture  of  his  men.  and  found  it  impossible  to  give  them 
the  least  assistance." — TYTLER'S  Life  of  Bruce. 

26.  Page  96.  This  is  a  line  from  a  very  pathetic  ballad  which  I  heard 
sung  by  one  of  the  young  ladies  of  Edgeworthstown  in  1825.  I  do  not  know 
that  it  has  been  printed. 

27  Page  1(H.    The  Red  Soldier. 

28  Page  119.     Caberfae— Anglict,  the  Stag's-head,  the  Celtic  designa- 
tion for  the  arms  of  the  family  of  the  high  Chief  of  Seaforth. 

29.  Page  121.  MASSACRE  OE  GLENCOK. — The  following  succinct  ac- 
count of  this  too  celebrated  event,  may  be  sufficient  for  this  place  : — 

"  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1692,  an  action  ol  unexampled  barbarilv  dis- 
graced the  government  of  King  William  111.  in  Scotland.  In  the  August 
preceding,  a  proclamation  had  been  issued,  offering  an  indemnity  to  such  in- 
surgents as  should  take  the  oaths  to  the  King  and  Queen,  on  orbefbre  the  last 
day  of  December;  and  the  chiefs  of  such  tribes,  as  had  been  in  arms  lor 
James,  soon  after  took  advantage  of  the  proclamation.  But  Macdonald  of 
Glencoe  was  prevented  by  accident,  rather  than  design,  from  tending  his  sub- 
mission within  the  limited  time.  In  the  end  of  December  he  went  to  Colonel 
Hill,  who  commanded  the  garrison  in  Fort  William,  to  take  the  oaths  of  alle- 

§iance  to  the  government ;  and  the  latter  having  furnished  him  with  a  letter  to 
ir  Colin  Campbell,  Sheriff  of  the  county  of  Argyll,  directed  him  to  repair 
immediately  to  Inverary,  to  make  his  submission  in  a  legal  manner  before  that 
magistrate.  But  the  way  to  Inverary  lay  through  almost  impassible  moun- 
tains, the  season  was  extremely  rigorous,  and  the  whole  country  was  covere<» 
with  a  deep  snow.  So  eager,  however,  was  Macdonald  to  lake  the  oalhs  be- 
fore I  IK:  limited  time  should  expire,  that,  though  the  road  lay  within  half  a 
milt!  of  his  own  house,  he  stopped  not  to  visil  his  family,  and,  after  various 
obstructions,  arrived  at  Inverary.  The  time  had  elapsed,  and  the  sheriff  hes- 
itated to  receive  his  submission;  but  Macdonald  prevailed  by  his  importuni- 
ties Hiid  even  tears,  in  inducing  that  functionary  to  administer  to  him  the  oalli 
ol  alleeiance,  and  to  certify  the  cause  of  his  delay.  At  this  lime  Sir  John 
iMIrvmple.  afterwards  Earl  of  Stair,  being  in  attendance  upon  William  an 
Secretary  of  State  for  Scotland,  took  advantage  of  Macdonald's  neglecting 
to  >..,'&,  ie  oath  within  the  time  prescribed,  and  procured  from  the  King  8 


CHRONICLES    OF    THE    rANONGATE  207 

of  military  execution  against  that  chief  and  his  whole  ;lan.  This 
was  done  at  the  instigation  of  the  Earl  of  Breadalbane,  whose  lai  Js  the  Glen- 
coe men  had  plundered,  and  whose  treachery  to  government  in  negotiating 
wit.li  the  Highland  clans.  Macdonald  himself  had  exposed.  The  King  was 
accordingly  persuaded  that  Glencoe  was  the  main  obstacle  to  the  pacification 
of  the  Highlands;  and  the  fact  of  the  unfortunate  chiefs  submission  having 
beer,  concealed,  the  sanguinary  orders  for  proceeding  to  military  execution 
Against  his  clan  were  in  consequence  obtained.  The  warrant  was  both  signed 
and  countersigned  by  the  King's  own  hand,  and  the  Secretary  urged  the  offi- 
cers who  commanded  in  the  Highlands  to  execute  their  orders  with  the  utmost 
rigour.  Campbell  of  (iienlyon,  a  captain  in  Argyll's  regiment,  and  twosub- 
aliorjis.  were  ordered  to  repair  to  Glencoe  on  the  first  of  February  with  a 
hundred  and  twenty  men.  Campbell  being  uncle  to  young  Macdonald's  wife, 
was  received  by  the  father  with  all  manner  of  friendship  and  hospitality.  The 
mon  wore  lodged  at  free  quarters  in  the  houses  of  his  tenants,  and  received 
the  kindest  entertainment.  Till  the  13lh  of  the  month  the  troops  lived  in  the 
utmost  har/nony  and  familiarity  with  the  people  :  and  on  the  very  night  of  the 
massacre,  the  officers  passed  the  evening  at  cards  in  Macdonald's  house.  In 
the  night  Lieutenant  Lindsay,  with  a  parly  of  soldiers,  called  in  a  friendly 
manner  at  his  door,  and  was  instantly  admitted.  Macdonald,  while  in  the  act 
of  rising  to  receive  his  guest,  was  shot  dead  through  the  back  with  two  bul- 
lets. His  wife  had  already  dressed  ;  but  she  was  stripped  naked  by  the  sol- 
diers, who  tore  the  rings  off  her  fingers  with  their  teeth.  The  slaughler  now 
became  general,  and  neither  age  nor  infirmity  was  spared.  Some  women,  in 
defending  their  children,  were  killed  ;  boys,  imploring  mercy,  were  shot  dead 
by  officers  on  whose  knees  they  hung.  In  one  place  nine  persons,  as  they  sat 
enjoying  themselves  at  table,  were  butcliered  by  the  soldiers.  In  Inverriggon, 
Campbell's  own  quarters,  nine  men  were  first  bound  by  the  soldiers,  and  then 
shot  at  intervals,  one  by  one.  Nearly  forty  persons  were  massacred  hv  the 
troops;  and  several  who  fled  to  the  mountains  perished  by  famine  and  the  in- 
clemency of  the  season.  Those  who  escaped  owed  their  lives  to  a  tempestu- 
ous night.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton. who  had  received  the  charge  of  the 
execution  from  Dalrymple,  was  on  his  march  with  four  hundred  men,  to  guard 
all  the  passes  r'rom  the  valley  of  Glencoe;  but  he  was  obliged  to  stop  by/  the 
severity  of  the  weather,  which  proved  the  safety  of  the  unfortunate  clan. 
Next  day  he  entered  the  valley,  laid  the  houses  in  ashes,  and  carried  away 
the  cattle  and  spoil,  which  were  divided  among  the  officers  and  soldiers."— 
'•'  Article  "  BRITAIN  ;"  Encyc.  Britannica — fiew  edition. 

30.  Page  133.  FIDELITY  OF  THE  HIGHLANDERS. — Of  the  strong,  un- 
deviating  attachment  of  the  Highlanders  to  the  person,  and  their  deference  tc 
the  wil!  or  commands  of  their  chiefs  and  superiors— their  rigid  adherence  to 
duty  anu  principle — and  their  chivalrous  acts  of  self-devotion  to  these  in  the 
face  of  danger  and  death,  there  are  many  instances  recorded  in  General 
Stewart  of  Garth's  interesting  Sketches  of  the  Highlanders  and  Highland 
Regiments,  which  might  not  inaptly  supply  parallels  to  the  deeds  of  the  Ro- 
mans themselves,  at  the  era  when  Rome  was  in  her  glory.  The  lollowing 
instances  of  such  are  worthy  of  being  here  quoted  : — 

"  In  the  year  179.5.  a  serious  disturbance  broke  out  in  Glasgow,  among  the 
Breadalbane  Fencibles.  Sever.il  men  having  been  confined  and  threatened 
with  corporal  punishment,  considerable  discontent  and  irritation  were  excited 
among  their  comrades,  which  increased  to  such  violence,  that,  when  some 
men  were  confined  in  the  guard-house,  a  great  proportion  of  the  regiment 
rushed  out  and  forcibly  released  the  prisoners.  This  violation  of  military 
discipline  was  not  to  be  passed  over,  and  accordingly  measures  were  imme- 
diately taken  to  secure  the  ringleaders.  But  so  many  were  equally  concern 
ed,  that  it  was  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  fix  the  crime  on  any,  as  being 
more  prominently  guilty.  And  here  was  shown  a  trait  of  character  worlhy 
of  a  bf  er  cause,  and  which  originated  from  a  feeling  alive  to  the  disgrace  of 
a  degrading  punishment.  The  soldiers  being  made  sensible  of  the  nature  of 


208  NOTES    TO    THE 

their  misconduct,  and  the  consequent  necessity  of  public  ex.'.inple,  several 
men  volimtarily  offered  themselves  to  stand  trial,  and  suffer  the  sentence  of  the 
law  as  an  atonement  for  the  whole.  These  men  were  accordingly  inarched 
to  Edinburgh  Castle,  tried,  and  four  condemned  to  be  shot.  Three  of  them 
were  afterwards  reprieved,  and  the  fourth,  Alexander  Sutherland,  was  shot 
on  JJusselburgh  Sands. 

"  The  following-  demi-official  account  of  this  unfortunate  misunderstanding 
was  published  at  the  lime  : — 

"  '  During  the  afternoon  of  Monday,  when  a  private  of  the  light  company 
of  the  Breadalbane  Fencibles,  who  had  been  confined  for  a  military  offence, 
was  released  by  that  company,  and  some  other  companies  who  had  assembled 
in  a  tumultuous  manner  before  the  guard-house,  no  person  whatever  was  hurt, 
and  no  violence  offered  ;  and  however  unjustifiable  the  proceedings,  it  orig- 
inated not  from  any  disrespect  or  ill-will  to  their  officers,  but  from  a  mistaken 
point  of  honour,  in  a  particular  set  of  men  in  the  battalion.,  who  thoasrht  them- 
selves disgraced  by  the  impending  punishment  of  one  of  their  number.  The 
men  have,  in  every  respect,  since  that  period  conducted  themselves  with  the 
greatest  regularity,  and  strict  subordination.  The  whole  of  the  battalion 
seemed  extremely  sensible  of  the  improper  conduct  of  such  as  were  concern- 
ed, whatever  regret  they  might  feel  for  the  fate  of  the  few  individuals  who 
had  so  readily  given  themselves  up  as  prisoners,  to  be  tried  for  their  own  and 
others'  misconduct.' 

"  On  the  march  to  Edinburgh,  a  circumstance  occurred,  the  more  worthy 
of  notice,  as  it  shows  a  strong  principle  of  honour  and  fidelity  to  his  word  and 
to  his  officer  in  a  common  Highland  soldier.  One  of  the  men  stated  to  the 
officer  commanding  the  party,  that  he  knew  w-hat  his  fate  would  be,  but  that 
he  had  left  business  of  the  utmost  importance  to  a  friend  in  Glasgow,  which 
he  wished  to  transact  before  his  death  ;  that,  as  to  himself,  he  was  fully  per- 
pared  to  meet  his  fate  ;  but  with  regard  to  his  friend,  he  could  not  die  in  peace 
unless  the  business  was  settled,  and'  that,  if  the  officer  would  suffer  him  to  re- 
turn to  Glasgow,  a  few  hours  there  would  be  sufficient,  and  he  would  join 
him  before  he  reached  Edinburgh,  and  march  as  a  prisoner  with  the  party. 
The  soldier  added,  '  You  have  known  me  since  I  was  a  child  ;  you  know  my 
country  and  kindred,  and  you  may  believe  1  shall  never  bring  you  to  any 
blame  by  a  breach  of  the  promise  I  now  make,  to  be  with  you  in  full  time  to 
be  delivered  up  in  the  Castle.'  This  was  a  startling  proposal  to  the  officer, 
who  was  a  judicious,  humane  man,  and  knew  perfectly  hi's  risk  and  responsi 
bilily  in  yielding  to  such  an  extraordinary  application.  However,  his  confi- 
dence was  such,  that  he  complied  with  the  request  of  the  prisoner,  who 
returned  to  Glasgow  at  night,  settled  his  business,  and  left  the  town  before 
daylight  to  redeem  his  pledge.  Hv  took  a  long  circuit  to  avoid  being  seen, 
apprehended  as  a  deserter,  and  sent  back  to  Glasgow,  as  probably  his  account 
of  his  officer's  indulgence  would  not  have  been  credited.  In  consequence  of 
this  caution,  and  the  lengthened  march  through  woods  and  over  hills  by  an 
unfrequented  route,  there  was  no  appearance  of  him  at  the  hour  appointed. 
The  perplexity  of  the  officer  when  he  reached  the  neighbourhood  of  Edin- 
burgh may  be  easily  imasined.  He  moved  forward  slowly  indeed,  but  no 
soldier  appeared  ;  and  unable  to  delay  any  longer,  he  marched  up  to  the  Cas- 
tle, and  as  he  was  delivering  over  the  prisoners,  but  before  any  report  was 
given  in,  Macmartin,  the  absent  soldier,  rushed  in  among  his  lellow  prisoners, 
all  pale  with  anxiety  and  fatigue,  and  breathless  with  apprehension  of  the 
consequences  in  which  his  delay  might  have  involved  his  benefactor. 

"  In  whatever  light  the  conduct  of  the  officer  (my  respectable  friend.  Major 
Colin  Campbell)  may  be  considered,  either  by  military  men  or  others,  in  this 
memorable  exemplification  of  the  characteristic  principle  of  his  countrymen, 
fidelity  to  their  word,  it  cannot  but  be  wished  that  the  soldier's  magnanimous 
self-devotion  had  been  taken  as  an  atonement  for  his  own  misconduct  ant? 
that  ot  the  whole,  who  also  had  made  a  high  sacrifice,  in  the  voluntary  offer 
of  their  lives  for  the  conduct  of  their  brother  soldiers.  Are  these  a  people  to 
be  Heated  as  malefactors,  without  regard  to  their  feelings  and  principles  '  ami 


CHRONICLES    OF    THE    CANONGATE.  209 

might  not  a  discipline,  somewhat  different  from  the  usual  mode,  le,  with  ad- 
vantage, applied  to  them  1" — Vol.  II.  p.  413 — 15.  3d  Edit. 

"  A  soldier  of  this  regiment,  (The  Argyllshire  Highlanders,)  deserted,  and 
emigrated  to  America,  where  he  settled.  Several  years  after  his  desertion,  a 
letter  was  received  from  him,  with  a  sum  of  money,  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
curing one  or  two  men  to  supply  his  place  in  the  regiment,  as  the  only  recom- 
pense he  could  make  for  '  breaking  his  oath  to  his  God  and  his  allegiance  to 
his  King,  whi  ;lr  preyed  on  his  conscience  in  such  a  manner,  that  he  had  no 
rest  night  nor  oay.' 

"  This  man  had  had  good  principles  early  instilled  into  his  mind,  and  t>»e 
disgrace  which  he  had  been  originally  taught  to  believe  would  attach  to  a 
breach  of  faith  now  operated  with  full  effect.  The  soldier  who  deserted  from 
the  42d  Regiment  at  Gibralter,  in  1797,  exhibited  the  same  remorse  of  con- 
science after  he  had  violated  his  allegiance.  In  countries  where  such  princi- 
ples prevail,  and  regulate  the  character  of  a  people,  the  mass  of  the  oopula- 
tion  may,  on  occasions  of  trial,  be  reckoned  on  as  sound  and  trustwu/thy."— • 
Vol.  II.  p.  218.  3d  Edit. 

"  The  late  James  Menzies  01  Culdares,  having1  engaged  in  the  rebellion  of 
1715,  and  been  taken  at  Preston  in  Lancashire,  was  carried  to  London, 
where  he  was  tried  and  condemned,  but  afterwards  reprieved.  Grateful  for 
this  clemency,  he  remained  at  home  in  1745.  but,  retaining  a  predilection  for 
the  old  cause,  he  sent  a  handsome  charger  as  a  present  to  I'rince  Charles, 
when  advancing  through  England.  The  servant  who  led  and  delivered  the 
liorse  was  taken  prisoner,  and  carried  to  Carlisle,  where  he  was  tried  and 
condemned.  To  extort  a  discovery  o'the  person  who  sent  the  horse,  threats 
of  immediate  execution  in  case  of  refiual,  and  offers  of  pardon  on  his  giving 
information,  were  l>eld  out  ineffectually  t>  the  faithful  messenger.  He  knew, 
he  said,  what  the  consequence  of  a  disclosure  would  be  to  his  master,  and  his 
own  life  was  nothing  in  the  comparison  ;  when  brought  out  for  execution,  he 
was  again  pressed  to  inform  on  his  master.  He  asked  if  they  were  seiious  in 
supposing  him  such  a  villain.  ,f  he  did  what  ihey  desired,  and  forgot  his  master 
and  his  trust,  he  could  not  retiirn  to  his  native  country,  for  Glenlyon  would  be 
no  home  or  country  for  him,  us  he  would  be  despised  and  hunted  out  of  the 
Glen.  Accordingly  he  kept  steady  to  his  trust,  and  was  executed.  This 
trusty  servant's  name  was  John  Macnaughton,  from  Glenlyon,  in  Perthshire  : 
he  deserves  to  be  mentioned,  both  on  account  of  his  incorruptible  fidelity,  and 
of  his  testimony  to  the  honourable  principles  of  the  people,  and  to  their  de- 
testation of  a  breach  of  trust  to  a  kind  and  honourable  master,  however  great 
might  be  the  risk,  or  however  fatal  the  consequences,  to  the  individual  him- 
self."—Vol.  I.  pp.  52,  53.  3d  Edit. 

31.  Page  167.     Letters  from  the  Mountains,  3  cols. — Essays  on  the  Su- 
perstitions of  the  Highlanders — The  Highlanders,  and  other  Poems,  &c. 

32.  Page  167.    The  gallant  and  amiable  author  of  the  History  of  the 
Highland  Regiments,  in  whose  glorious  services  his  own  share  had  been  great, 
went  out  Governor  of  St.  Lucie  in  1828,  and  d'red  in  that  island  on  the  18th 
of  December  1829, — no  man  more  regretted,  or  perhaps  by  a  wider  circle  of 
friends  and  acquaintance. 

33.  Page  198.    ROBERT  DONN'S  POEMS. — I  cannot  dismiss  this  story 
'without  resting  attention  for  a  moment  on  the  light  which  has  been  thrown  on 
the  character  of  the  Highland  Urover  since  the  time  of  its  first  appearance, 
by  the  account  of  a  drover  poet,  by  name   Robert   Mackay,  or,  as  he  was 
commonly  called,  Rob  Donn,  i.  e.  brown  Robert,  and  certain  specimens  of  nis 
'.ale ills,  published  in  the  90th  Number  of  the  Quarterly  Review.    The  picture 
A'hich  that  paper  gives  of  the  habits  and  feelings  of  a  class  of  persons  with 
which  the  general  reader  w»uld  be  apt  to  associate  no  ideas  but  those  of  wi'  i 
superstition  and  rude  man  ers,  is  ill  the  highest  degree  interesting;  »nd  i 

537 


210  NOTES    TO    THE 

cannot  resist  tne  temptation  of  quoting  two  of  the  songs  of  ihis  hitherto  im- 
fceard  of  poet  of  humble  life.     They  are  thus  introduced  by  the  reviewer  :— 

"  Upon  one  occasion,  it  seems,  Rob's  attendance  upon  .iis  master's  cattl* 
business  detained  him  a  whole  year  from  home,  and  at  his  return  he  found 
thsit  a  fair  maiden,  to  whom  his  troth  had  been  plighted  of  yore,  had  lost  sight 
of  her  vows,  and  was  on  the  eve  of  being  married  to  a  rival,  (a  carpenter  by 
trade,)  who  had  profited  by  the  young  Drover's  absence.  The  following  song 
was  composed  during  a  sleepless  night,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  CreifT,  in 
Perthshire,  and  the  home  sickness  which  it  expresses  appears  to  be  almost  as 
that  of  tht  deer-hunter  as  of  the  loviag  swain. 

'Easy  is  my  bed,  it  is  easy, 

But  it  is  not  to  sleep  that  I  incline  ; 
The  icind  whistles  northwards,  northwards, 

And  my  thoughts  move  with  it. 
More  pleasant  were  it  to  be  with  thee 

In  the  little  glen  of  calves, 
Than  to  be  counting  of  droves 

In  the  enclosures  of  Creiff. 

Easy  is  my  led,  &c. 
'  Great  is  my  esteem  of  the  maiden, 

Towards  whose  dwelling  the  north  wind  blows ; 
She  is  ever  cheerful,  sportive,  kindly, 

Without  folly,  without  vanity,  without  pride. 
True  is  her  heart  —  were  I  under  hiding, 

And  fifty  men  in  pursuit  of  my  footsteps, 
I  should  find  protection,  when  they  surrounded  me  most  closely 

In  the  secret  recess  of  that  shieling. 

Easy  is  my  bed,  &c. 
'  Oh  for  the  day  for  turning  my  face  homeward, 

That  I  may  see  the  maiden  of  beauty: — 
Joyful  will  it  be  to  me  to  be  with  thee, — 

Fair  girl  with  the  long  heavy  locks ! 
Choice  of  all  places  for  deer-hunting 

Are  the  brindled  rock  and  the  ridge ! 
How  sweet  at  evening  to  be  dragging  the  slain  deer 

Downwards  along  the  piper's  cairn  ! 

Easy  is  my  bed,  &e. 

'  Great  is  my  esteem  for  the  maiden 

Who  parted  from  me  by  the  west  side  of  the  enclosed  field, 
Late  yet  again  will  she  linger  in  that  fold, 

Long  after  the  kine  are  assembled. 
It  is  I  myself  who  have  taken  no  dislike  to  thee. 

Though  far  away  from  thee  am  I  now. 
It  is  for  the  thought  of  thee  that  sleep  flies  from  me; 

Great  is  the  profit  to  me  of  thy  parting  kiss ! 

Easy  is  my  bed,  &e. 

'  Dear  to  me  are  the  boundaries  of  the  forest ; 

Far  from  Creiff  is  my  heart  ; 
My  remembrance  is  of  the  hillocks  of  sheep, 

And  the  heath  of  many  knolls. 
Ok  for  the  red-streaked  fissures  of  the  rock, 

Where  in  spring  time,  the  fawns  leap  ; 
Oh  for  the  crags  towards  which  the  wind  is  blowing, 

Cheap  would  be  my  bed  to  be  there ! 

Easy  is  my  bed,'  &e. 


CHRONICLES    OF    THE    CANONGA.TE.  21  I 

•Th<;  following  describes  Rob's  feelings  on  the  first  discovery  of  his  dam- 
sel's infidelity.  The  airs  of  both  these  pieces  are  his  own,  and,  the  Highland 
ladies  say,  very  beautiful. 

1  Heavy  to  me  is  the  shieling,  and  the  hum  that  is  in  it, 
Since  the  ear  that  was  wont  to' listen  is  now  no  more  on  the  watch. 
Where  is  Isabel,  the  courteous,  the  conversable,  a  sister  in  kindness  ? 
Where  is  Anne,  the  slender-browed,  the  turret-breasted,  whose  glossy  hail 

pleased  me  when  yet  a  boy  ? 
Heich  !  what  an  hour  teas  my  returning .' 
Pain  such  as  that  sunset  "brought,  what  availelh  me  to  tell  it  f 

'  I  traversed  the  fold,  and  upward  among  the  trees—- 
Each place,  far  and  near,  wherein  I  was  wont  to  salute  my  love. 
When  1  looked  down  from  the  crag,  and  beheld  the  fair-haired  stranger  dal- 
lying with  his  bride, 

I  wisheo  that  I  had  never  revisited  the  glen  of  my  dreams. 
Such  things  came  into  my  heart  as  that  sun  was  going  down, 
A  pain  of  which  1  shall  never  be  rid,  what  availeth  me  to  tell  it  ? 

1  Since  it  hath  been  heard  that  the  carpenter  had  persuaded  thee. 
My  sleep  is  disturbed— busy  is  foolishness  within  me  at  midnight. 
The  kindness  that  has  been  between  us,— I  cannot  shake  off  that  memory 

in  visions ; 

Thou  callesl  me  not  to  thy  side  ;  but  love  is  to  me  for  a  messenger. 
There  is  strife  within  me,  and  I  toss  to  bt  at  liberty. 
And  ever  the.  closer  it  clings,  and  the  delusion  is  growing  to  me  as  a  tree. 

'  Anne,  yellow-haired  daughter  of  Donald,  surely  thou  knowest  not  how  it  is 

with  me — 

That  it  is  old  love,  unrepaid,  which  has  worn  down  from  me  my  strength ; 
That  when  far  from  thee,  beyond  many  mountains,  the  wound  in  my  heart 

was  throbbing, 

Stirring,  and  searching  for  ever,  as  when  I  sat  beside  thee  on  the  turf. 
Now,  men,  hear  me  this  once,  if  for  ever  lam  to  he  without  thee, 
My  spirit  is  broken — give  me  one  kiss  ere  I  leave  this  land  ' 

Haughtily  and  scornful!}'  the  maid  looked  upon  me ; 
Never  will  it  be  work  for  thy  fingers  to  unloose  the  band  from  my  curls  ; 
Thou  hast  been  absent  a  twelvemonth,  and  six  were  seeking  me  diligently; 
Was  thy  superiority  so  high,  that  there  should  be  no  end  of  abiding  for  thee  T 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  .'—hast  thou  at  last  become  sick  1 
Is  it  lute,  tliat  is  to  give  death  to  thee  7  surely  the  enemy  has  been  in  no  haste. 

'  But  how  shall  I  hate  thee,  even  though  towards  me  thou  hast  oecome  co.a 
When  my  discourse  is  most  angry  concerning  thy  name  in  thine  absence, 
Of  a  sudden  thine  image,  with  its  old  dearness,  comes  visibly  into  my  mind  ; 
And  a  secret  voice  whispers  that  love  will  yet  prevail ! 
And  I  become  surety  for  it  anew,  darling, 
And  it  springs  up  at  that  hour  lofty  as  a  tower.1 

"  Rude  and  bald  as  these  things  appear  in  a  verbal  translation,  and  rough 
Vis  they  might  possibly  appear,  even  were  the  originals  intelligible,  we  confesi 
we  are  disposed  to  think  they  would  of  themselves  justify  Dr.  Mackay  (theii 
Editor)  in  placing  this  herdsman-lover  among  the  true  sons  of  song."'— Qi/ar 
terly  Review,  No.  XC.  July  1831. 


END    OF    VOLUME    I. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

FIRST    SERIES. 

THE  SURGEON'S  DAUGHTER. 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  SURGEON'S  DAUGHTER. 


THE  Author  has  nothing  to  say  now  in  reference  to  this 
.ittle  Novel,  but  that  the  principal  incident  on  which  it 
turns,  was  narrated  to  him  one  morning  at  breakfast  by 
his  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Train,  of  Castle  Douglas,  in  Gal- 
loway, whose  kind  assistance  he  has  so  often  had  occasion 
to  acknowledge  in  the  course  of  these  prefaces  ;  and  that 
the  military  friend  who  is  alluded  to  as  having  furnished 
him  with  some  information  as  to  Eastern  matters,  was 
Colonel  James  Ferguson  of  Huntly  Burn,  one  of  the 
sons  of  the  venerable  historian  and  philosopher  of  that 
name — which  name  he  took  the  liberty  of  concealing 
under  its  Gaelic  form  of  Mac-Erries. 

W.  S. 


ABBOTSFORD. 
Sept.  1831. 


APPENDIX 


INTRODUCTION 


[Jtfr.  Train  was  requested  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  girt 
him  in  writing  the  story  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 
shape  in  which  he  had  told  it ;  but  the  following  nar- 
rative, which  he  drew  up  accordingly,  did  not  reach 
Abbotsford  until  July  1832.] 


IN  the  old  Stock  of  Fife,  there  was  not  perhaps  an 
individual  whose  exertions  were  followed  by  consequences 
of  such  a  remarkable  nature  as  those  of  Davie  Duff,  pop- 
ularly called  "  The  Thane  of  Fife,"  who,  from  a  very 
humble  parentage,  rose  to  fill  one  of  the  chairs  of  the 
magistracy  of  his  native  burgh.  By  industry  and  econo- 
my in  early  life,  he  obtained  the  means  of  erecting,  solely 
on  his  own  account,  one  of  those  ingenious  manufactories 
for  which  Fifeshire  is  justly  celebrated.  From  the  day 
on  which  the  industrious  artisan  first  took  his  seat  at  the 
Council  Board,  he  attended  so  much  to  the  interests  of 
the  little  privileged  community,  that  civic  honours  were 
conferred  on  him  as  rapidly  as  the  Set  of  the  Royalty* 
could  legally  admit. 

To  have  the  right  of  walking  to  church  on  holyday. 
preceded  by  a  phalanx  of  halberdiers,  in  habiliments 
fashioned  as  in  former  times,  seems,  in  the  eyes  of  man) 
a  guild  brother,  to  be  a  very  enviable  pitch  of  worldly 

*  The  Constitution  of  the  Borough. 


n  APPENDIX    TO 

grandeur.  Few  persons  were  ever  more  proud  of  civic 
honours  than  the  Thane  of  Fife,  but  he  knew  well  how 
to  turn  his  political  influence  to  the  best  account.  The 
council,  court,  and  other  business  of  the  burgh,  occupied 
much  of  his  time,  which  caused  him  to  intrust  the  man- 
agement of  his  manufactory  to  a  near  relation  whose  name 
was  D*****^*,  a  young  man  of  dissolute  habits  ;  but 
.he  Thane,  seeing  at  last,  that  by  continuing  that  extrava- 
gant person  in  that  charge,  his  affairs  would,  in  all  prob- 
ability, fall  into  a  state  of  bankruptcy,  applit d  to  the 
member  of  Parliament  for  that  district  to  obtain  a  situa- 
tion for  his  relation  in  the  civil  department  of  the  state. 
The  knight,  whom  it  is  here  unnecessary  to  name,  know- 
ing how  effectually  the  Thane  ruled  the  little  burgh,  ap- 
plied in  the  proper  quarter,  and  actually  obtained  an 
appointment  for  D*******  in  the  civil  service  of  the 
East  India  Company. 

A  respectable  surgeon,  whose  residence  was  in  a  neigh- 
bouring village,  had  a  beautiful  daughter  named  Emma, 
who  had  long  been  courted  by  D*******.  Immediately 
before  his  departure  to  India,  as  a  mark  of  mutual  affec- 
tion, they  exchanged  miniatures,  taken  by  an  eminent 
artist  in  Fife,  and  each  set  in  a  locket,  for  the  purpose  of 
having  the  object  of  affection  always  in  view. 

The  eyes  of  the  old  Thane  were  now  turned  to- 
wards Hindostan  with  much  anxiety  ;  but  his  relation 
had  not  long  arrived  in  that  distant  quarter  of  the 
globe  before  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  receiving  a  let- 
ter, conveying  the  welcome  intelligence  of  his  having 
taken  possession  of  his  new  station  in  a  large  frontier 
town  of  the  Company's  dominions,  and  that  great 
emoluments  were  attached  to  the  situation  ;  which  was 
confirmed  by  several  subsequent  communications  of  the 
most  gratifying  description  to  the  old  Thane,  who  look 
great  pleasure  in  spreading  the  news  of  the  reformed 
habits  and  singular  good  fortune  of  his  intended  heir. 
None  of  all  his  former  acquaintances  heard  with  such 
joy  the  favourable  report  of  the  successful  adventurer  ia 


INTRODUCTION.  <Tli 

the  East,  as  did  the  fair  and  accomplished  daughtei  of  the 
village  surgeon  ;  but  his  previous  character  caused  her  to 
Keep  her  own  correspondence  with  him  secret  from  her 
parents,  to  whom  even  the  circumstance  of  her  being  ac- 
quainted with  D*******  was  wholly  unknown,  till  her 
father  received  a  letter  from  him,  in  which  he  assured  him 
of  his  attachment  to  Emma  long  before  his  departure 
from  Fife  ;  that  having  been  so  happy  as  to  gain  her 
affections,  he  would  have  made  her  his  wife  before  leaving 
his  native  country,  had  he  then  had  the  means  of  sup- 
porting her  in  a  suitable  rank  through  life  ;  and  that, 
having  it  now  in  his  power  to  do  so,  he  only  waited  the 
consent  of  her  parents  to  fulfil  the  vow  he  had  formerly 
made. 

The  Doctor  having  a  large  family,  with  a  very  limited 
income  to  support  them,  and  understanding  that  D******* 
had  at  last  become  a  person  of  sober  and  industrious 
habits,  he  gave  his  consent,  in  which  Emma's  mother 
fully  concurred. 

Aware  of  the  straitened  circumstances  of  the  Doctor, 
D*******  remitted  a  sum  of  money  to  complete  at  Ed- 
inburgh Emma's  Oriental  education,  and  fit  her  out  ir 
her  journey  to  India  ;  she  was  to  embark  at  Sheerness, 
on  board  one  of  the  Company's  ships,  for  a  port  in  India, 
at  which  place,  he  said,  he  would  wait  her  arrival,  with  a 
retinue  suited  to  a  person  of  his  rank  in  society. 

Emma  set  out  from  her  father's  house  just  in  time  to 
secure  a  passage,  as  proposed  by  her  intended  husband, 
accompanied  by  her  only  brother,  who,  on  their  arrival 
at  Sheerness,  met  one  C******,  an  old  schoolfellow, 
captain  of  the  ship  by  which  Emma  was  to  proceed  to 
India. 

It  was  the  particular  desire  of  the  Doctor  that  his 
daughter  should  be  committed  to  the  care  01  that  gentle- 
man, from  the  time  of  her  leaving  the  shores  of  Britain, 
till  the  intended  marriage  ceremony  was  duly  performed 
on  her  arrival  in  India  ;  a  charge  that  was  frankly  under- 
taken by  the  generous  sea-captain. 

On    the  arrival  of  the   fleet   at  the  appointed    port, 


ITlll  APPENDIX    TO 

D*******,  with  a  large  cavalcade  of  mounted  Pindareesi, 
was,  as  expected,  in  attendance,  ready  to  salute  Emma 
on  landing,  and  to  carry  her  direct  into  the  interior  of  the 
country.  C******,  who  had  made  several  voyages  to 
the  shores  of  Hindostan,  knowing  something  of  Hindoo 
manners  and  customs,  was  surprised  to  see  a  private  indi- 
vidual in  the  Company's  service  with  so  many  attendants  ; 
and  when  D*******  declined  having  the  marriage  cere- 
mony nerfonr.ed,  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Church, 
till  ho  r_tur.ied  to  the  place  of  his  abode,  C******,  more 
and  more  confirmed  in  his  suspicion  that  all  was  not  right, 
resolved  not  to  part  with  Emma,  till  he  had  fulfilled,  in 
the  most  satisfactory  manner,  the  promise  he  had  made 
before  leaving  England,  of  giving  her  duly  away  in  mar- 
riage. Not  being  able  by  her  entreaties  to  alter  the  re- 
solution of  \s*******}  Emma  solicited  her  protector 
C******  to  accompany  her  to  the  place  of  her  intended 
destination,  to  which  he  most  readily  agreed,  taking  with 
him  as  many  of  his  crew  as  he  deemed  sufficient  to  ensure 
the  safe  custody  of  his  innocent  protegee,  should  any  at- 
tempt be  made  to  carry  her  away  by  force. 

Both  parties  journeyed  onwards  till  they  arrived"  at  a 
frontier  town,  where  a  native  Rajah  was  waiting  the  ar- 
rival of  the  fair  maid  of  Fife,  with  whom  he  had  fallen 
deeply  in  love,  from  seeing  her  miniature  likeness  in  the 
possession  of  D*******,  to  whom  he  had  paid  a  large  sum 
of  money  for  the  original,  and  had  only  intrusted  him  to 
convey  ner  in  state  to  the  seat  of  his  government. 

No  sooner  was  this  villanous  action  of  D******* 
known  to  C******,  than  he  communicated  the  whole 
particulars  to  the  commanding  officer  of  a  regiment  of 
Scotch  Highlanders  that  happened  to  be  quartered  in  that 
part  of  India,  begging  at  the  same  time,  for  the  honour 
of  Caledonia,  and  protection  of  injured  innocence,  that 
he  would  use  the  means  in  his  power,  of  resisting  any 
attempt  that  might  be  made  by  the  native  chief  to  wrest 
from  their  hands  the  virtuous  female  who  had  been  so 
shamefully  decoyed  from  her  native  country  by  the  worst 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

of  mankind.     Honour  occupies  too  large  a  space  in  the 
heart  of  the  Gael  to  resist  the  call  of  humanity. 

The  Rajah,  finding  his  claim  was  not  to  be  acceded  to, 
and  resolving  to  enforce  the  same,  assembled  his  troops, 
and  attacked  with  great  fury  the  place  where  the  affright- 
ed Emma  was  fora  time  secured  by  her  countrymen,  who 
fought  in  her  defence  with  all  their  native  valour,  which 
at  length  so  overpowered  their  assailants,  that  they  were 
forced  to  retire  in  every  direction,  leaving  behind  many 
of  their  slain,  among  whom  was  found  the  mangled  corpse 
of  the  perfidious  D*******. 

C******  was  immediately  afterwards  married  to  Em- 
ma, and  my  informant  assured  me  he  saw  them  many 
years  afterwards,  living  happily  together  in  the  county  of 
Kent,  on  the  fortune  bequeathed  by  the  "  Thane  of 
Fife." 

J.  T 

CASTLE  DOUGLAS, 
July,  1832. 


VOL.  ii 


CHRONICLES 


THE  CANONGATE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


luc.ite,  my  muse,  indite, 

Subpoena'd  is  thy  lyre, 
The  praises  to  requite 

Which  rules  of  court  require. 

Probationary  Ode*. 

THE  concluding  a  literary  undertaking,  in  whole  or  in 
part,  is,  to  the  inexperienced  at  least,  attended  with  an  ir- 
ritating titillation,  like  that  which  attends  on  the  healing  of 
a  wound  —  a  prurient  impatience,  in  short,  to  know  \\ihat 
the  world  in  general,  and  friends  in  particular,  will  say  to 
our  lahours.  Some  authors,  I  am  told,  profess  an  oyster- 
like  indifference  upon  this  subject  ;  for  my  own  part,  I 
hardly  believe  in  their  sincerity.  Others  may  acquire  it 
from  habit  ;  but  in  my  poor  opinion,  a  neophyte  like  my- 
self must  be  for  a  long  time  incapable  of  such  sangfroid. 

Frankly,  I  was  ashamed  to  feel  how  childishly  I  felt  on 
the  occasion.  No  person  could  have  said  prettier  things 
than  myself  upon  the  importance  of  stoicism  concerning 
ihe  opinion  of  others,  when  their  applause  or  censure  re- 
fers to  literary  character  only  ;  and  I  had  determined  to 


4  CHRONICLES    OF 

lay  my  work  before  the  public,  with  the  same  unconcern 
with  which  the  ostrich  lays  her  eggs  in  the  sand,  giving 
herself  no  farther  trouble  concerning  the  incubation,  but 
leaving  to  the  atmosphere  to  bring  forth  the  young,  or 
otherwise,  as  the  climate  shall  serve.  i»Jt  though  an  os- 
trich in  theory,  I  became  in  practice  a  poor  hen,  who  has 
no  sooner  made  her  deposit,  but  she  runs  cackling  about, 
to  call  the  attention  of  every  one  to  the  wonderful  work 
which  she  has  performed. 

As  soon  as  I  became  possessed  of  my  first  volume, 
neatly  stitched  up  and  boarded,  my  sense  oi  ihe  necessity 
of  communicating  with  some  one  became  ungovernable. 
Janet  was  inexorable,  and  seemed  already  to  have  tired 
of  my  literary  confidence  ;  for  whenever  I  drew  near  the 
subject,  after  evading  it  as  long  as  she  could,  she  made, 
under  some  pretext  or  other,  a  bodily  retreat  to  the  kitch- 
en or  the  cockloft,  her  own  peculiar  and  inviolate  domains 
My  publisher  would  have  been  a  natural  resource  ;  but 
he  understands  his  business  too  well,  and  follows  it  too 
closely,  to  desire  to  enter  into  literary  discussions,  wisely 
considering,  that  he  who  has  to  sell  books  has  seldom  leis- 
ure to  read  them.  Then  my  acquaintance,  now  that  I 
have  lost  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol,  are  of  that  distant  and  ac- 
cidental kind,  to  whom  I  had  not  face  enough  to  commu- 
nicate the  nature  of  my  uneasiness,  and  who  probably 
would  only  have  laughed  at  me  had  I  made  any  attempt 
to  interest  them  in  my  labours. 

Reduced  thus  to  a  sort  of  despair,  I  thought  of  my 
friend  and  man  of  business  Mr.  Fairscribe.  His  habits, 
it  was  true,  were  not  likely  to  render  him  indulgent  to  light 
literature,  and,  indeed,  I  had  more  than  once  noticed  his 
daughters,  and  especially  my  little  songstress,  whip  into 
her  reticule  what  looked  very  like  a  circulating  library 
volume,  as  soon  as  her  father  entered  the  room.  Still  he 
was  not  only  my  assured,  but  almost  my  only  friend,  and 
i  had  little  doubt  that  he  would  take  an  interest  in  the  vol- 
ume for  the  sake  of  the  author,  which  the  work  itself  might 
fail  to  inspire.  1  sent  him,  therefore,  the  book,  carefully 
sealed  ap,  with  an  intimation  that  1  requested  the  favour 


THE    CAJVONGATE.  & 

of  his  opinion  upon  the  contents,  of  which  I  affected  tovalk 
in  the  depreciatory  style,  which  calls  for  point-blank  con- 
tradiction, if  your  correspondent  possess  a  grain  of  ci 
vility. 

This  communication  took  place  on  a  Monday,  and 
daily  expected  (what  I  was  ashamed  to  anticipate  by  vol- 
unteering rny  presence,  however  sure  of  a  welcome)  an 
invitation  to  eat  an  egg,  as  was  my  friend's  favourite  phrase, 
or  a  card  to  drink  tea  with  Misses  Fairscribe,  or  a  prov- 
ocation to  breakfast,  at  least,  with  my  hospitable  friend 
and  benefactor,  and  to  talk  over  the  contents  of  my  en- 
closure. But  the  hours  and  days  passed  on  from  Mon- 
day till  Saturday,  and  I  had  no  acknowledgment  whatever 
that  rny  packet  had  reached  its  destination.  "  This  is 
very  unlike  my  good  friend's  punctuality,"  thought  I  ;  and 
having  again  and  again  vexed  James,  my  male  attendant, 
by  a  close  examination  concerning  the  time,  place,  and 
delivery,  I  had  only  to  strain  my  imagination  to  conceive 
reasons  for  my  friend's  silence.  Sometimes  I  thought  that 
his  opinion  of  the  work  had  proved  so  unfavourable,  that 
he  was  averse  to  hurt  my  feelings  by  communicating  it — 
sometimes,  that,  escaping  his  hands  to  whom  it  was  des- 
tined, it  had  found  its  way  into  his  writing-chamber,  and 
was  become  the  subject  of  criticism  to  his  smart  clerks 
and  conceited  apprentices.  "  'Sdeath  !"  thought  I,  "  if 
I  were  sure  of  this,  I  would " 

"  And  what  would  you  do1?"  said  Reason,  after  a  few 
moments  reflection.  "  You  are  ambitious  of  introducing 
your  book  into  every  writing  and  reading  chamber  in 
Edinburgh,  and  yet  you  take  fire'  at  the  thoughts  of  its 
being  criticised  by  Mr.  Fairscribe's  young  people  *?  Be  a 
little  consistent,  for  shame." 

"  I  will  be  consistent,"  said  I,  doggedly  :  "  but  for  all 
:hat,  I  will  call  on  Mr.  Fairscribe  this  evening." 

I  hastened   rny  dinner,  donn'd   my  great-coat,  (for  the 

evening  threatened  rain,)  and  went  to  Mr.  Fairscribe's 

house.     The  old    domestic  opened  the  door  cautiously, 

and  before  I  asked  the  question,  said,  "  Mr.  Fairscribe 

538 


3  CHRONICLES    OF 

is  at  home,  sir;  but  it  is  Sunday  night."  Recognizing, 
however,  my  face  and  voice,  he  opened  the  door  wider, 
admitted  me,  and  conducted  me  to  the  parlour,  where  1 
found  Mr.  Fairscribe  and  the  rest  of  his  family  engaged 
in  listening  to  a  sermon  by  the  late  Mr.  Walker  of  Edin- 
burgh,1 which  was  read  by  Miss  Catherine  with  unusual 
distinctness,  simplicity,  and  judgment.  Welcomed  as  a 
friend  of  the  house,  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  my 
seat  quietly,  and  making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  endeavour- 
ed to  derive  my  share  of  the  benefit  arising  from  an  ex- 
cellent sermon.  But  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Walker's  force  of 
logic  and  precision  of  expression  were  somewhat  lost  upon 
me.  I  was  sensible  I  had  chosen  an  improper  time  to 
disturb  Mr.  Fairscribe,  and  when  the  discourse  was  ended, 
]  rose  to  take  my  leave,  somewhat  hastily,  1  believe. 
"  A  cup  of  tea,  Mr.  Croftangry  9"  said  the  young  lady. 
"  You  will  wait  and  take  part  of  a  presbyterian  supper?" 
said  Mr.  Fairscribe. — "  Nine  o'clock — I  make  it  a  point 
of  keeping  my  father's  hours  on  Sunday  at  e'en.  Per- 
haps Dr.  (naming  an  excellent  clergyman)  may 

look  in." 

I  made  my  apology  for  declining  his  invitation  ;  and  I 
fancy  my  unexpected  appearance,  and  hasty  retreat,  had 
rather  surprised  my  friend,  since,  instead  of  accompany- 
ing me  to  the  door,  he  conducted  me  into  his  own  apart- 
ment. 

"  What  is  the  matter,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Croftangry  9 
This  is  not  a  night  for  secular  business,  but  if  anything 
sudden  or  extraordinary  has  happened " 

"  Nothing  in  the  wo'rld,"  said  I,  forcing  myself  upon 
confession,  as  the. best  way  of  clearing  myself  out  of  the 
scrape, — "  only — only  I  sent  you  a  little  parcel,  and  as  you 
are  so  regular  in  acknowledging  letters  and  communica- 
tions, 1  —  I  thought  it  might  have  miscarried — that's  all." 

My  friend  laughed  heartily,  as  if  he  saw  into  and  en- 
joyed my  motives  and  my  confusion.  "  Safe  9 — it  came 
safe  enough,"  he  said.  "  The  wind  of  the  world  always 
blows  its  vanities  into  haven.  But  this  is  the  end  of  the 
sesiion,  when  I  have  little  time  to  read  anything  printed 


THE    CANONGATE. 

except  Inner  House  papers; — yet  if  you  will  take  yotu 
kail  with  us  n?xt  Saturday,  I  will  glance  over  your  work 
though  I  am  sure  I  am  no  competent  judge  of  such 
matters." 

With  this  promise  I  was  fain  to  take  my  leave,  not  with 
out  half  persuading  myself  that  if  once  the  phlegmatic 
lawyer  began  my  lucuhrations,  he  would  not  be  able  to 
rise  from  them  till  he  had  finished  the  perusal,  nor  to  en- 
tlure  an  interval  betwixt  his  reading  the  last  page,  and 
requesting  an  interview  with  the  author. 

No  such  marks  of  impatience  displayed  themselves. 
Time,  blunt  or  keen,  as  my  friend  Joanna  says,  swift  or 
leisurely,  held  his  course  ;  and  on  the  appointed  Satur- 
day, I  was  at  the  door  precisely  as  it  struck  four.  The 
dinner  hour,  indeed,  was  five  punctually  ;  but  what  did  I 
know  but  my  friend  might  want  half  an  hour's  conversation 
with  me  before  that  time  9  J  was  ushered  into  an  empty 
drawing-room,  and,  from  a  needle-book  and  work-basket, 
hastily  abandoned,  I  had  some  reason  to  think  1  inter- 
rupted my  little  friend  Miss  Katie  in  some  domestic  laboui 
more  praiseworthy  than  elegant.  In  this  critical  age,  filial 
piety  must  hide  herself  in  a  closet,  if  she  has  a  mind  to 
darn  her  father's  linen. 

Shortly  after,  I  was  the  more  fully  convinced  that  I  had 
been  too  early  an  intruder,  when  a  wench  came  to  fetch 
away  the  basket,  and  recommend  to  my  courtesies  a  red 
and  green  gentleman  in  a  cage,  who  answered  all  my 
advances  by  croaking  out,  "  You're  a  fool — you're  a  fool, 
1  tell  you  !"  until,  upon  my  word,  1  began  to  think  the 
creature  was  in  the  right.  At  last  my  friend  arrived,  a 
little  over-heated.  He  had  been  taking  a  turn  at  golf,  to 
prepare  him  for  "  colloquy  sublime."  And  wherefore 
not  9  since  the  game,  with  its  variety  of  odds,  lengths, 
bunkers,  tee'd  balls,  and  so  on,  may  be  no  inadequate  re- 
presentation of  the  hazards  attending  literary  pursuits.  In 
particular,  those  fonnidable  buffets,  which  make  one  ball 
spin  through  the  air  like  a  rifle-shot,  and  strike  anothei 
down  into  the  very  earth  it  is  placed  upon,  by  the  mal 
adroitness  or  the  malicious  purpose  of  the  player — wha.' 


&  CHRONICLES    OF 

are  they  but  parallels  to  the  favourable  or  depreciating 
notices  of  the  reviewers,  who  play  at  golf  with  the  publi- 
cations of  the  season,  even  as  Altisidora,  in  her  approach 
to  the  gates  of  the  infernal  regions,  saw  the  devils  playing 
at  racket  with  the  new  books  of  Cervantes'  days. 

Well,  every  hour  has  its  end.  Five  o'clock  came,  arid 
my  friend,  with  his  daughters,  and  his  handsome  young 
son,  who,  though  fairly  buckled  to  the  desk,  is  every  now 
and  then  looking  over  his  shoulder  at  a  smart  uniform,  set 
seriously  about  satisfying  the  corporeal  wants  of  nature  ; 
while  I,  stimulated  by  a  nobler  appetite  after  fame,  wish- 
ed that  the  touch  of  a  magic  wand  could,  without  all  the 
ceremony  of  picking  and  choosing,  carving  and  slicing, 
masticating  an.d  swallowing,  have  transported  a  quantum 
sufficit  of  the  good  things  on  my  friend's  hospitable 
board,  into  the  stomachs  of  those  who  surrounded  it, 
to  be  there  at  leisure  converted  into  chyle,  while  their 
thoughts  were  turned  on  higher  matters.  At  length  all 
was  over.  But  the  young  ladies  sat  still,  and  talked 
of  the  music  of  the  Freischutz,  for  nothing  else  was  then 
thought  of  ;  so  we  discussed  the  wild  hunters'  song,  and 
the  tame  hunters'  song,  &tc.  &tc.  in  all  which,  my  young 
friends  were  cmue  at  home.  Luckily  for  me,  all  this 
horning  and  hooping  drew  on  some  allusion  to  the  Seventh 
Hussars,  which  gallant  regiment,  I  observe,  is  a  more  fa- 
vourite theme  with  both  Miss  Catherine  and  her  brother 
than  with  my  old  friend,  who  presently  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  said  something  significantly  to  Mr.  James  about  office 
hours.  The  youth  got  up  with  the  ease  of  a  youngster 
that  would  be  thought  a  man  of  fashion  rather  than  ol 
business,  and  endeavoured,  with  some  success,  to  walk  out 
of  the  room,  as  if  the  locomotion  was  entirely  voluntary  ; 
Miss  Catherine  and  her  sisters  left  us  at  the  same  time, 
<ind  now,  thought  I,  my  trial  comes  on. 

Reader,  did  you  ever,  in  the  course  of  your  life,  cheat 
the  courts  of  justice  and  lawyers,  by  agreeing  to  refer  a 
dubious  and  important  question  to  the  decision  of  a  mu- 
tual frievJ  9  If  so,  you  may  have  remarked  the  relative 
rhan>e  which  the  arbiter  undergoes  in  your  estimation 


THE    CANONGATE.  » 

when  raiseJ,  though  by  your  own  free  choice,  fiom  an 
ordinary  acquaintance,  whose  opinions  were  of  as  little 
consequence  to  you  as  yours  to  him,  into  a  superior  persou- 
age,  on  whose  decision  your  fate  must  depend  pro  tanto, 
as  ray  friend  Mr.  Fairscribe  would  say.  His  looks  as- 
sume a  mysterious  if  not  a  minatory  expression  ;  his  hat 
has  a  loftier  air,  and  his  wig,  if  he  wears  one,  a  more 
formidable  buckle. 

I  felt,  accordingly,  that  my  good  friend  Fairscribe,  on 
the  present  occasion,  had  acquired  something  of  a  simi- 
lar increase  of  consequence.  But  a  week  since,  he  had, 
in  my  opinion,  been  indeed  an  excellent-meaning  man, 
perfectly  competent  to  every  thing  within  his  own  profes- 
sion, but  immured  at  the  same  time  among  its  forms  and 
technicalities,  and  as  incapable  of  judging  of  matters  ol 
taste  as  any  mighty  Goth  whatsoever,  of  or  belonging  to 
the  ancient  Senate  House  of  Scotland.  But  what  of  that  ? 
I  had  made  him  my  judge  by  my  own  election  ;  and  I 
have  often  observed  that  an  idea  of  declining  such  a  refer- 
ence, on  account  of  his  own  consciousness  of  incompe- 
tency,  is,  as  it  perhaps  ought  to  be,  the  last  which  occurs 
to  the  referee  himself.  He  that  has  a  literary  work  sub- 
iected  to  his  judgment  by  the  author,  immediately  throws 
his  mind  into  a  critical  attitude,  though  the  subject  be  one 
which  he  never  before  thought  of.  No  doubt  the  author 
is  well  qualified  to  select  his  own  judge,  and  why  should 
the  arbiter  whom  he  has  chosen  doubt  his  own  talents  for 
condemnation  or  acquittal,  since  he  has  been  doubtless 
picked  out  by  his  friend,  from  his  indubitable  reliance  on 
their  competence  *?  Surely,  the  man  who  wrote  the  pro- 
duction is  likely  to  know  the  person  best  qualified  to 
'urlse  of  it. 

Whilst  these  thoughts  crossed  my  brain,  I  kept  my  eyes 
fixed  on  my  good  friend,  whose  motions  appeared  unusu- 
ally tardy  to  me,  while  he  ordered  a  bottle  of  particular 
claret,  decanted  it  with  scrupulous  accuiacy  with  his  own 
hand,  caused  his  old  domestic  to  bring  a  saucer  of  olives, 
and  chips  of  toasted  bread,  and  thus,  on  hospitable  thoughts 


10  CHRONICLES    OF 

intent,   seemed  to  me  to  adjourn  the  discussion  which  1 
longed  to  bring  on,  yet  feared  to  precipitate. 

He  is  dissatisfied,"  thought  I,  "  and  is  ashamed  tc 
show  it,  afraid  doubtless  of  hurting  my  feelings.  What 
had  1  to  do  to  talk  to  him  about  anything  save  charters 
and  sasines  *? — Stay,  he  is  going  to  begin." 

"  We  are  old  fellows  now,   Mr.  Croftap.srv,"  said  mv 

7  O    .*   *  4 

landlord,  "  scarcely  so  fit  to  take  a  poor  quart  of  clare» 
between  us,  as  we  would  have  been  in  better  days  to  take 
a  pint,  in  the  old  Scottish  liberal  acceptation  of  the  phrase 
May  be  you  would  have  liked  me  to  have  kept  James  to 
help  us.  But  if  it  is  not  on  a  holiday  or  so,  J  think  it  is 
best  he  should  observe  office  hours." 

Here  the  discourse  was  about  to  fall.  I  relieved  it  by 
saying,  Mr.  James  was  at  the  happy  time  of  life,  when  he 
had  better  things  to  do  than  to  sit  over  the  bottle.  "  1 
suppose,"  said  I,  "  your  son  is  a  reader  9" 

"  Urn — yes — James  may  be  called  a  reader  in  a  sense  ; 
but  I  doubt  there  is  little  solid  in  his  studies — poetry  and 
plays,  Mr.  Croftangry,  all  nonsense — they  set  his  head 
a-gadding  after  the  army,  when  he  should  be  minding  his 
business." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  that  romances  do  not  find  much  more 
grace  in  your  eyes  than  dramatic  and  poetical  compo- 
sitions 9" 

"  Deil  a  bit.  deil  a  bit,  Mr.  Croftangry,  nor  historical 
productions  either.  There  is  too  much  fighting  in  his- 
tory, as  if  men  only  were  brought  into  this  world  to  send 
one  another  out  of  it.  It  nourishes  false  notions  of  our 
being,  and  chief  and  proper  end,  Mr.  Croftangry." 

Still  all  this  was  general,  and  I  became  determined  to 
bring  our  discourse  to  a  focus.  "  I  am  afraid,  then,  I 
have  done  very  ill  to  trouble  you  with  my  idle  manuscripts. 
Mr.  Fairscribe  ;  but  you  must  do  me  the  justice  to  re- 
member, that  1  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  amuse 
myself  by  writing  the  sheets  I  put  into  your  bands  th« 
othei  day.  I  may  truly  plead — 

"  1  left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade  " 


THE    CANONGATR.  il 

"  T  cry  your  mercy,  Mr.  Croftangry,"  said  my  OiQ 
friend,  suddenly  recollecting — "yes,  yes,  I  have  been  very 
rude  ;  but  I  had  forgotten  entirely  that  you  had  taken  a 
spell  yourself  at  that  idle  man's  trade." 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  1,  "  you,  on  your  side,  have  been 
too  busy  a  man  to  look  at  my  poor  Chronicles  9" 

"  No,  no,"  said  my  friend,  "  1  am  not  so  bad  as  that 
neither.  I  have  read  them  bit  by  bit,  just  as  I  could  get 
a  moment's  time,  and  1  believe  1  shall  very  soon  gel 
through  them." 

"  Well,  my  good  friend  *?"  said   I,  interrogatively. 

And  "  fVdl,  Mr.  Croftangry,"  cried  he,  "  I  really  think 
you  have  got  over  the  ground  very  tolerably  well.  I  have 
noted  down  here  two  or  three  bits  of  things,  which  1  pre- 
sume to  be  errors  of  the  press,  otherwise  it  might  be  al- 
leged, perhaps,  that  you  did  not  fully  pay  that  attention  to 
the  grammatical  rules  which  one  would  desire  to  see 
rigidly  observed." 

1  looked  at  my  friend's  notes,  which,  in  fact,  showed, 
that  in  one  or  two  grossly  obvious  passages,  I  had  left  un- 
corrected  such  solecisms  in  grammar. 

"  Well,  well,  I  own  my  fault  ;  but,  petting  apart  these 
casual  errors,  how  do  you  like  the  matter  and  the  manner 
of  what  I  have  been  writing,  Mr.  Fairscribe  *?" 

"  Why,"  said  my  friend,  pausing,  with  more  grave  and 
important  hesitation  than  I  thanked  him  for,  "  there  is  not 
much  to  be  said  against  the  manner.  The  style  is  terse 
and  intelligible,  Mr.  Croftangry,  very  intelligible  ;  and 
that  I  consider  as  the  first  point  in  every  thing  that  is  in 
tended  to  be  understood.  There  are,  indeed,  here  and 
there  some  flights  and  fancies,  which  I  comprehended  with 
difficulty  ;  but  I  got  to  your  meaning  at  last.  There  are 
people  that  are  like  ponies  ;  their  judgments  cannot  go 
*asl,  but  they  go  sure." 

"  That  is  a  pretiy  clear  proposition,  my  friend  ;  buj 
then  how  did  you  like  the  meaning  when  you  did  get  a? 
it  1  or  was  tlnu,  like  some  ponies,  too  difficult  to  catch, 
and,  when  catr.hed,  not  worth  the  trouble  9" 


32  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  I  am  far  from  saying  that,  my  dear  sir,  in  respect  it 
would  oe  downright  uncivil  ;  but  since  you  ask  my  opin- 
ion, I  wish  you  could  have  thought  about  something  more 
appertaining  to  civil  policy,  than  all  this  bloody  work  about 
shooting,  and  dirking,  and  downright  hanging.  1  am  told 
it  was  the  Germans  who  first  brought  in  such  a  practice 
of  choosing  their  heroes  out  of  the  Porteous  Roll*  but, 
by  my  faith,  we  are  like  to  be  upsides  with  them.  The 
first  was,  as  I  am  credibly  informed,  Mr.  Scolar.  as  they 
call  him  ;  a  scholar-like  piece  of  work  he  has  made  of  it, 
with  his  Robbers  and  thieves." 

"  Schiller,"  said  I,  "  my  dear  sir,  let  it  be  Schiller." 

"  Shiller,  or  what  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Fairscribe  ;  "  I 
found  the  book  where  I  wish  I  had  found  a  better  one, 
and  that  is,  in  Kate's  work-basket.  I  sat  down,  and  like 
an  old  fool,  began  to  read  ;  but  there,  I  grant,  you  have 
the  better  of  Shiller,  Mr.  Croftangry." 

"  I  should  be  glad,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  really  think  I 
have  approached  that  admirable  author  ;  even  your  friend- 
ly partiality  ought  not  to  talk  of  my  having  excelled  him." 

"  But  I  do  say  you  have  excelled  him,  Mr.  Croftangry 
in  a  most  material  particular.  For  surely  a  oook  of  amuse- 
ment should  be  something  that  one  can  take  up  and  lay 
clown  at  pleasure  ;  and  1  can  say  justly,  I  was  never  at 
the  least  loss  to  put  aside  these  sheets  of  yours  when  busi- 
ness came  in  the  way.  But,  faith,  this  Shiller,  sir,  does 
not  let  you  off  so  easily.  I  forgot  one  appointment  on 
particular  business,  and  1  wilfully  broke  through  another, 
that  1  might  stay  at  home  and  finish  his  confounded  book, 
which,  after  all,  is  about  two  brothers,  the  greatest  rascals 
I  ever  heard  of.  The  one,  sir,  goes  near  to  murder  his 
own  father,  and  the  other  (which  you  would  think  still 
stranger)  sets  about  to  debauch  his  own  wife." 

"  1  find,  then,  Mr.  Fairscribe.  that  you  have  no  taste 
for  the  romance  of  real  life,  no  pleasure  in  contemplating 
those  spirit-rousing  impulses,  which  force  men  of  fiery 
passions  upon  great  crimes  and  great  virtues  ?" 

*  List  of  criminal  indictments,  so  termed  in  Scollai.d. 


THE    CANONGATE.  13 

**  Wny,  as  to  that,  I  am  not  just  so  sure  Hut  then,  to 
mend  the  matter,"  continued  the  critic.  "  ycu  have  brotighl 
in  Highlanders  into  every  story,  as  if  you  were  going  back 
again,  veils  et  remis, into  the  old  days  of  Jacobitism.  I  mus* 
speak  my  plain  mind,  Mr.  Croftangry.  I  cannot  tell  what 
innovations  in  Kirk  and  State  may  be  now  proposed,  but 
our  fathers  were  friends  to  both,  as  they  were  settled  at 
the  glorious  Revolution,  and  liked  a  tartan  plaid  as  little 
as  they  did  a  white  surplice.  I  wish  to  Heaven,  all  this 
tartan  fever  bode  well  to  the  Protestant  succession  and  the 
Kirk  of  Scotland." 

"  Both  too  well  settled,  I  hope,  in  the  minds  of  the 
subject,"  said  I,  "  to  be  affected  by  old  remembrances, 
on  which  we  look  back  as  on  the  portraits  of  our  ances- 
tors, without  recollecting,  while  we  gaze  on  them,  any  of 
ihe  feuds  by  which  the  originals  were  animated  while 
alive.  But  most  happy  should  I  be  to  light  upon  any 
topic  to  supply  the  place  of  the  Highlands,  Mr.  Fair- 
scribe.  1  have  been  just  reflecting  that  the  theme  is  be- 
coming a  little  exhausted,  and  your  experience  may  per- 
haps supply " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha — my  experience  supply  !"  interrupted 
Mr.  Fairscribe,  with  a  laugh  of  derision.  "  Why,  you 
might  as  well  ask  my  son  James's  experience  to  supply  a 
case  about  thirlage.  No,  no,  my  good  friend,  I  have  lived 
by  the  law,  and  in  the  law,  all  my  life  ;  and  when  you 
seek  the  impulses  that  make  soldiers  desert  and  shoot  theii 
sergeants  and  corporals,  and  Highland  drovers  dirk  Eng- 
lish graziers,  to  prove  themselves  men  of  fiery  passions, 
it  is  not  to  a  man  like  me  you  should  come.  I  could  tell 
you  some  tricks  of  my  own  trade,  perhaps,  and  a  queer 
storj  or  two  of  estates  that  have  been  lost  and  recovered. 
But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  you  might  do  with  your 
Muse  of  Fiction,  as  you  call  her,  as  many  an  honest  man 
does  with  his  own  sons  in  flesh  and  blood." 

"  And  how  is  that,  my  dear  sir  T' 

"  Send  her  to  India,  to  b-3  sure.  That  is  the  true  place 
for  a  Scot  to  thrive  in  ;  and  if  you  carry  your  story  fifu 

12       VOL.    11 


.4  CHRONICLES    OF 

years  back,  as  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  y  u,  you  w  11  fiiu 
as  much  shooting  and  stabbing  there  as  ever  was  in  th> 
wild  Highlands.  If  you  want  rogues,  as  they  are  so  much 
in  fashion  with  you,  you  have  that  gallant  cast  of  adven 
Hirers,  who  laid  down  their  consciences  at  the  Cape  ot 
Good  Hope  as  they  went  out  to  India,  and  forgot  to  take 
them  up  again  when  they  returned.  Then,  for  great  ex- 
ploits, you  have  in  the  old  history  of  India,  before  Euro- 
peans were  numerous  there,  the  most  wonderful  deeds, 
done  by  the  least  possible  means,  that  perhaps  the  annals 
of  the  world  can  afford." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  I,  kindling  at  the  ideas  his  speech 
inspired.  "  I  remember  in  the  delightful  pages  of  Orme. 
the  interest  which  mingles  in  his  narratives,  from  the  very 
small  number  of  English  which  are  engaged.  Each  of- 
ficer of  a  regiment  becomes  known  to  you  by  name,  nay, 
the  non-commissioned  officers  and  privates  acquire  an  in- 
dividual share  of  interest.  They  are  distinguished  among 
the  natives  like  the  Spaniards  among  the  Mexicans. 
What  do  1  say  *?  they  are  like  Homer's  demigods  among 
the  warring  mortals.  Men,  like  Clive  and  Cailla-jd,  influ- 
enced great  events,  like  Jove  himself.  Inferior  officers 
are  like  Mars  or  Neptune,  and  the  sergeants  ami  corpo- 
rals might  well  pass  for  demigods.  Then  the  various  re- 
ligious costumes,  habits,  and  manners  of  the  people  of 
Hindustan, — the  patient  Hindhu,  the  warlike  Rajahpoot, 
the  haughty  Moslemah,  the  savage  and  vindictive  Malay 
— Glorious  and  unbounded  subjpcts  !  The  only  objection 
is,  that  I  have  never  been  there,  and  know  nothing  at  all 
about  them." 

"  Nonsense,  my  good  friend.  You  will  tell  us  about 
them  all  the  better  that  you  know  nothing  of  what  you 
are  saying  ;  and  come,  we'll  finish  the  bottle,  and  when 
Katie  (her  sisters  go  to  the  Assembly,)  has  given  us  tea, 
she  will  tell  you  the  outline  of  the  story  of  poor  Menie 
Gray,  whose  picture  you  will  see  in  the  drawing-room,  a 
distant  relation  of  my  father's,  who  had,  however,  a  hand- 
some part  of  cousin  Menie's  sue  cession.  T  lere  are  none 
living  '.hat  can  be  hurt  by  the  story  now,  though  it  wa» 


THE    CANONGATK. 

thought  best  to  smother  it  up  at  the  time,  as  indeed  even 
the  whispers  about  it  led  poor  cousin  Alenie  to  live  very 
retired.  I  mind  her  well  when  a  child.  There  was  some- 
thing very  gentle,  but  rather  tiresome,  about  poor  cousin 
Menie." 

When  we  came  into  the  drawing-room,  my  friend  point- 
ed to  a  picture  which  I  had  before  noticed,  without,  how- 
ever, its  having  attracted  more  than  a  passing  look  ;  now 
I  regarded  it  with  more  attention.  It  was  one  of  those 
portraits  of  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  which 
artists  endeavoured  to  conquer  the  stiffness  of  hoops  and 
brocades,  by  throwing  a  fancy  drapery  around  the  figure, 
with  loose  folds  like  a  mantle  or  dressing  gown,  the  stays, 
however,  being  retained,  and  the  bosom  displayed  in  a 
manner  which  shows  that  our  mothers,  like  their  daughters, 
were  as  liberal  of  their  charms  as  the  nature  of  their  dress 
might  permit.  To  this,  the  well-known  style  of  the  period, 
the  features  and  form  of  the  individual  added,  at  first  sight, 
little  interest.  It  represented  a  handsome  woman  ol 
about  thirty,  her  hair  wound  simply  about  her  head,  her 
features  regular,  and  her  complexion  fair.  But  on  look- 
ing more  closely,  especially  after  having  had  a  hint  that 
the  original  had  been  the  heroine  of  a  tale,  I  could  observe 
a  melancholy  sweetness  in  the  countenance,  that  seemed 
to  speak  of  woes  endured,  and  injuries  sustained,  with 
thai  resignation  which  women  can  and  do  sometimes  dis- 
play under  the  insults  and  ingratitude  of  those  on  whom 
they  have  bestowed  their  affections. 

"  Yes,  she  was  an  excellent  and  an  ill-used  woman, 'J 
said  Mr.  Fairscribe,  his  eyes  fixed  like  mine  on  the  picture 
— "  She  left  our  family  not  less,  I  dare  say,  than  five 
thousand  pounds,  and  I  believe  she  died  worth  four  times 
that  sum  :  hut  it  was  divided  among  the  nearest  of  kin, 
which  was  ai!  fair." 

"  But  her  history,  Mr.  Fairscribe,"  said  I — "  to  judge 
from  her  look,  it  nri&t  have  been  a  melancholy  one." 

"  \  on  may  say  'hat,  Mr.  Croftangry.  Melancholy 
enough,  and  extraordinary  enough  too — But,"  added  IIP, 
swallowing  in  haste  :>  cup  of  the  tea  which  was  presented 


I  6  CHRONICLES    OF 

to  him,  "  I  must  away  to  my  business — we  cannot  be 
gowffing  all  the  morning,  and  telling  old  stories  all  the  af- 
ternoon. Katie  knows  all  the  outs  and  the  ins  of  cousin 
Meme's  adventures  as  well  as  1  do,  and  when  she  has 
given  you  the  particulars,  then  I  am  at  your  service,  to 
condescend  more  articulately  upon  dates  or  particulars." 
Well,  here  was  1,  a  gay  old  bachelor,  left  to  hear  a  love 
tale  from  my  young  friend  Katie  Fairscribe,  who  when 
she  is  not  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  gallants,  at  which  time, 
to  my  thinking,  she  shows  less  to  advantage,  is  as  pretty, 
well  behaved,  and  unaffected  a  girl  as  you  see  tripping 
the  new  walks  of  Prince's  Street  or  Heriot  Row.  Old 
bachelorship  so  decided  as  mine  has  its  privileges  in  such 
a  tete-a-tete,  providing  you  are,  or  can  seem  for  the  time, 
perfectly  good-humoured  and  attentive,  and  do  not  ape 
the  manners  of  your  younger  years,  in  attempting  which 
you  will  only  make  yourself  ridiculous.  1  don't  pretend 
to  be  so  indifferent  to  the  company  of  a  pretty  young  wo- 
man as  was  desired  by  the  poet,  who  wished  to  sit  beside 
his  mistress — 

As  unconcern'd,  as  when 

Her  infant  beauty  could  beget 
Nor  happiness  nor  pain. 

On  the  contrary,  I  can  look  on  beauty  and  innocence,  as 
something  of  which  I  know  and  esteem  the  value,  without 
the  desire  or  hope  to  make  them  my  own.  A  young  lady 
can  afford  to  talk  with  an  old  stager  like  me  without  either 
artifice  or  affectation  ;  and  we  may  maintain  a  species  of 
friendship,  the  more  tender,  perhaps,  because  we  are  of 
different  sexes,  yet  with  which  that  distinction  has  very 
little  to  do. 

Now,  I  hear  my  wisest  and  most  critical  neighbour  re- 
mark, "  Mr.  Croftangry  is  in  the  way  of  doing  a  foolish 
thing.  He  is  well  to  pass — Old  Fairscribe  knows  to  a 
penny  what  he  is  worth,  and  Miss  Katie,  with  HI  her  airs, 
may  like  the  old  brass  that  buys  the  r.ew  pan.  I  thought 
M-.  Croftangry  was  looking  very  cadgy  when  he  came  in 
to  play  a  rubber  with  us  last  night.  Poor  gentleman,  1  anj 
sure  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  him  make  a  fool  of  himself.' 


THE    CAJVONGATE.  I* 

Spare  your  compassion,  dear  madam,  there  is  not  the 
east  danger.  The  beaux  yeux  de  ma  cassette  are  not 
brilliant  enough  to  make  amends  for  the  spectacles  which 
must  supply  the  dimness  of  my  own.  1  am  a  little  deaf, 
too,  as  you  know  to  your  sorrow  when  we  are  partners  ; 
and  if  1  could  get  a  nymph  to  marry  me  with  all  these  im- 
perfections, who  the  deuce  would  marry  Janet  M'Evoy  *? 
and  from  Janet  M'Evoy,  Chrystal  Croftangry  will  not  part. 

Miss  Katie  Fairscribe  gave  me  the  tale  of  Menie  Gray 
with  much  taste  and  simplicity,  not  attempting  to  suppress 
the  feelings,  whether  of  grief  or  resentment,  which  justly 
and  naturally  arose  from  the  circumstances  of  the  tale. 
Her  father  afterwards  confirmed  the  principal  outlines  of 
the  story,  ana  furnished  me  with  some  additional  circum- 
stances, which  Miss  Katie  had  suppressed  or  forgotten. 
Indeed,  I  have  learned  on  this  occasion,  what  old  Lintot 
meant  when  he  told  Pope,  that  he  used  to  propitiate  the 
critics  of  importance,  when  he  had  a  work  in  the  press, 
by  now  and  then  letting  them  see  a  sheet  of  the  blotted 
proof,  or  a  few  leaves  of  the  original  manuscript.  Our 
mystery  of  authorship  hath  something  about  it  so  fascinat- 
ing, that  if  you  admit  any  one,  however  little  he  may  pre- 
viously have  been  disposed  to  such  studies,  into  your  con- 
fidence, you  will  find  that  he  considers  himself  as  a  party 
interested,  and  if  success  follows,  will  think  himself  en- 
titled to  no  inconsiderable  share  of  the  praise. 

The  reader  has  seen  that  no  one  could  have  been  nat- 
urally less  interested  than  was  rny  excellent  friend  Fair- 
scribe  in  my  lucubrations,  when  I  first  consulted  him  on 
the  subject ;  but  since  he  has  contributed  a  subject  to  the 
work,  he  has  become  a  most  zealous  coadjutor  ;  and  half- 
ashamed,  I  believe,  yet  half-proud  of  the  literary  stock- 
company,  in  which  he  has  got  a  share,  he  never  meet? 
me  without  jogging  my  elbow,  and  dropping  some  mys- 
•erious  hints,  as,  "  I  am  saying — when  will  you  give  115 
any  more  of  yon  *?" — or,  "  Yon's  not  a  bad  narrative — 1 
like  yon." 

Praj   Heaven  the  reader  may  be  of  hi?  opinion 
VOL.   n. 


CHRONICLES    0V 


CHAPTER  II. 

's  Z9augf)trr. 


When  fainting  Nature  call'd  for  aid, 

And  hovering  Death  prepared  ti;t  L;low, 
His  vigorous  remedy  display'd 

The  power  of  Art  without  the  snow  t 
In  Misery's  darkest  caverns  known, 

His  useful  care  was  ever  nigh, 
Where  hopeless  Anguish  pour'H  his  groan, 

And  lonely  Want  retired  to  die  . 
No  summons  mock'd  by  cold  delay, 

No  petty  gains  disclaim'd  by  priuo, 
The  modest  wants  of  every  dav 

The  toil  of  every  day  supplied. 

Samuel  Johnson. 

THE  exquisitely  beautiful  portrait  which  the  Ramble 
has  painted  of  his  friend  Levett,  wen  describes  Gideon 
Gray,  and  many  other  village  doctors,  from  whom  Scot- 
land reaps  more  benefit,  and  to  whom  she  is  perhaps  more 
ungrateful,  than  to  any  other  class  01  .rseii,  excepting  her 
schoolmasters. 

Such  a  rural  man  of  medicine  is  usually  the  inhabitant 
of  some  petty  borough  or  village,  which  forms  the  cen- 
tral point  of  his  practice.  But,  besides  attending  to  such 
cases  as  the  village  may  afford,  iie  is  day  and  night  at  the 
service  of  every  one  who  may  command  his  assistance 
within  a  circle  of  forty  miles  in  diameter,  untraversed  by 
roads  in  many  directions,  and  including  moors,  moun- 
tains, rivers,  and  lakes.  For  late  and  dangerous  jour- 
ney? through  an  inaccessible  country,  for  services  of  the 
iiost  essential  kind,  rendered  at  the  expense,  or  risk  at 
east,  of  his  own  health  and  life,  the  Scottish  village  doc- 

'  O 

tor  receives  at  best  a  very    moderate   recompense,  often 
one  which  <s  totally  inadequate,  and  very  frequentlv  none 


THE    CANOJXGATE.  19 

whatsoever.  He  has  none  of  the  ample  resources  proper 
to  the  brothers  of  the  profession  in  an  English  town. 
The  burgesses  of  a  Scottish  borough  are  rendered,  by 
their  limited  means  of  luxury,  inaccessible  to  gout,  sur- 
feits, and  all  the  comfortable  chronic  diseases,  which  are 
attendant  on  wealth  and  indolence.  Four  years,  or  so, 
of  abstemiousness,  enable  them  to  stand  an  election  din- 
ner ;  and  there  is  no  hope  of  broken  heads  among  a  score 
or  two  of  quiet  electors,  who  settle  the  business  over  a 
table.  There  the  mothers  of  the  state  never  make  a 
point  of  pouring,  in  the  course  of  every  revolving  year, 
a  certain  quantity  of  doctor's  stuff  through  the  bowels  of 
their  beloved  children.  Every  old  woman,  from  the 
Townhead  to  the  Townfit,  can  prescribe  a  dose  of  salts, 
or  spread  a  plaster  ;  and  it  is  only  when  a  fever  or  a 
palsy  renders  matters  serious,  that  the  assistance  of  the 
doctor  is  invoked  by  his  neighbours  in  the  borough. 

But  still  the  man  of  science  cannot  complain  of  inactivity 
or  want  of  practice.  If  he  does  not  find  patients  at  his 
door,  he  seeks  them  through  a  wide  circle.  Like  the  ghost- 
ly lover  of  Burger's  Leonora,  he  mounts  at  midnight,  and 
traverses  in  darkness  paths  which,  to  those  less  accustom- 
ed to  them,  seem  formidable  in  daylight,  through  straits 
where  the  slightest  aberration  would  plunge  him  into  a 
morass,  or  throw  him  over  a  precipice,  on  to  cabins  which 
his  horse  might  ride  over  without  knowing  they  lay  in  his 
way.  unless  he  happened  to  fall  through  the  roofs.  When 
he  arrives  at  such  a  stately  termination  of  his  journey, 
where  his  services  are  required,  either  to  bring  a  wretch 
into  the  world,  or  prevent  one  from  leaving  it,  the  scene 
of  misery  is  often  such,  that  far  from  touching  the  hard- 
saved  shillings  which  are  gratefully  offered  to  him,  he  be- 
stows his  medicines  as  well  as  his  attendance — for  charity. 
I  have  heard  the  celebrated  traveller  Mungo  Park,  who 
had  experienced  both  courses  of  life,  rather  give  the  pref- 
erence to  travelling  as  a  discoverer  in  Africa,  than  to  wan- 
dering by  night  and  day  the  wilds  of  his  native  land  in 
the  capacity  of  a  country  medical  practitioner.  He 
mentioned  having  once  upon  a  time  rode  forty  miles,  sat 


CHRONICLES    OF 

up  all  night,  and  successfully  assisted  a  woma;i  under  in- 
fluence of  the  primitive  curse,  for  which  his  sole  remu 
deration  was  a  roasted  potato  and  a  draught  of  butter- 
milk. But  his  was  not  the  heart  which  grudged  the 
labour  that  relieved  human  misery.  In  short,  there  is  no 
creature  in  Scotland  that  works  harder  and  is  more  poor- 
ly requited  than  the  country  doctor,  unless  perhaps  it  may 
be  his  horse.  Yet  the  horse  is,  and  indeed  must  be, 
hardy,  active,  and  indefatigable,  in  spite  of  a  rough  coat 
and  indifferent  condition  ;  and  so  you  will  often  find  in 
his  master,  under  an  unpromising  and  blunt  exterior,  pro- 
fessional skill  and  enthusiasm,  intelligence,  humanity 
courage,  and  science. 

Mr  Gideon  Gray,  surgeon  in  the  village  of  Middlemas, 
situated  in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  Scotland,  led 
the  rough,  active,  and  ill-rewarded  course  of  life  which 
we  have  endeavoured  to  describe.  He  was  a  man  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty,  devoted  to  his  profession,  and  of 
such  reputation  in  the  medical  world,  that  he  had  been 
more  than  once,  as  opportunities  occurred,  advised  to 
exchange  Middlemas  and  its  meagre  circle  of  practice, 
for  some  of  the  larger  towns  in  Scotland,  or  for  Edin- 
burgh itself.  This  advice  he  had  always  declined.  He 
was  a  plain  blunt  man,  who  did  not  love  restraint,  and  was 
unwilling  to  subject  himself  to  that  which  was  exacted  in 
polite  society.  He  had  not  himself  found  out,  nor  had 
any  friend  hinted  to  him,  that  a  slight  touch  of  the  cynic, 
in  manner  and  habits,  gives  the  physician,  to  the  common 
eye,  an  air  of  authority  which  greatly  tends  to  enlarge  his 
reputation.  Mr.  Gray,  or,  as  the  country  people  called 
him,  Doctor  Gray,  (he  might  hold  the  title  by  diploma 
for  what  I  know,  though  he  only  claimed  the  rank  ot 
Master  of  Arts,)  had  few  wants,  and  these  were  amply 
supplied  by  a  professional  income  which  generally  ap- 
proached two  hundred  pounds  a-year,  for  which,  upon  an 
average,  he  travelled  about  five  thousand  miles  on  horse- 
Dack  in  the  course  of  the  twelve  months.  Nay,  so  liber- 
ally did  this  revenue  support  himself  and  his  ponies 
called  Pestle  and  Mortar,  which  he  exercised  alternately, 


THE    CANONGATE.  21 

that  he  took  a  damsel  to  share  it,  Jean  Watson,  namely, 
the  cherry-cheeked  daughter  of  an  honest  farmer,  who 
being  herself  one  of  twelve  children,  who  had  heen 
brought  up  on  an  income  of  fourscore  pounds  a-year. 
never  thought  there  could  be  poverty  in  more  than  double 
the  sum  ;  and  looked  on  Gray,  though  now  termed  by 
irreverent  youth  the  Old  Doctor,  as  a  very  advantageous 
match.  For  several  years  they  had  no  children,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  Doctor  Gray,  who  had  so  often  assisted  the 
efforts  of  the  goddess  Lucina,  was  never  to  invoke  her 
in  his  own  behalf.  Yet  his  domestic  roof  was,  on  a  re- 
markable occasion,  decreed  to  be  the  scene  where  the 
goddess's  art  was  required. 

Late  of  an  autumn  evening  three  old  women  might  be 
observed  plying  their  aged  limbs  through  the  single  street 
of  the  village  at  Middlemas  towards  the  honoured  door, 
which,  fenced  off  from  the  vulgar  causeway,  was  defend- 
ed by  a  broken  paling,  enclosing  two  slips  of  ground,  half 
arable,  half  overrun  with  an  abortive  attempt  at  shrubbery. 
The  door  itself  was  blazoned  with  the  name  of  Gideon 
Gray,  M.  A.  Surgeon,  &c.  &,c.  Some  of  the  idle  young 
fellows,  who  had  been  a  minute  or  two  before  loitering  at 
the  other  end  of  the  street  before  the  door  of  the  ale- 
house, (for  the  pretended  inn  deserved  no  better  name,) 
now  accompanied  the  old  dames  with  shouts  of  laughter, 
excited  by  their  unwonted  agility  ;  and  with  bets  on  the 
winner,  as  loudly  expressed  as  if  they  had  been  laid  at 
the  starting-post  of  Middlemas  races.  "  Half-a-mutch- 
kin  on  Luckie  Simson  !" — "  Auld  Peg  Tamson  against 
the  field  !" — "  Mair  speed,  Alison  Jaup,  ye'll  tak  the 
wind  out  of  hem  yet !" — "  Canny  against  the  hill,  lasses, 
or  we  may  have  a  brusten  auld  carline  amang  ye  !" 
These  and  a  thousand  such  gibes  rent  the  air,  without 
being  noticed,  or  even  heard,  by  the  anxious  racers,  whose 
object  of  contention  seemed  to  be,  which  should  first 
reach  the  Doctor's  door. 

*  Guide  us,  Doctor,  what  can  be  the  matter  now  9" 
said  Mrs.  Gray,  whose  character  was  that  of  a  good-na- 
tured simpleton  ;  "  Here's  Peg  Tamson,  Jean  Simson, 
539 


22  CHRONICLES    OF 

and  Alison  Jaup,  running  a  race  on  the  hie  street  of  the 
burgh  !" 

The  Doctor,  who  had  but  the  moment  before  hung  his 
wet  greatcoat  before  the  fire,  (for  he  was  just  dismount- 
ed from  a  long  journey,)  hastened  down  stairs,  auguring 
some  new  occasion  for  his  services,  and  happy,  that,  from 
the  ciiarat  ter  of  the  messengers,  it  was  likely  to  be  within 
burgh,  and  not  landward. 

He  had  just  reached  the  door  as  Luckie  Sirnson,  one 
of  the  racers,  arrived  in  the  little  area  before  it.  She 
had  got  the  start,  and  kept  it,  but  at  the  expense,  for  the 
time,  of  her  power  of  utterance  ;  for  when  she  came  in 
presence  of  the  Doctor,  she  stood  blowing  like  a  grampus, 
her  loose  toy  flying  back  from  her  face,  making  the  most 
violent  efforts  to  speak,  but  without  the  power  of  uttering 
a  single  intelligible  word.  Peg  Thomson  whipped  in  be- 
fore her. 

"  The  leddy,  sir,  the  leddy— " 

"  Instant  help,  instant  help" — screeched,  rather  than 
uttered,  Alison  Jaup  ;  while  Luckie  Simson.  who  had 
certainly  won  the  race,  found  words  to  claim  the  prize 
which  had  set  them  all  in  motion.  "  And  1  hc^e,  sir, 
you  will  recommend  me  to  be  the  sick-nurse  ;  I  was 
here  to  bring  you  the  tidings  lang  before  ony  o;  thae  laz) 
queans." 

Loud  were  the  counter  protestations  of  the  two  com- 
petitors, and  loud  the  laugh  of  the  idle  loony  who  listen- 
ed at  a  little  distance. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  ye  flyting  fools,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor ;  "  and  you,  ye  idle  rascals,  if  1  come  out  among 
you — "  So  saying,  he  smacked  his  long-lashed  whip 
with  great  emphasis,  producing  much  the  effect  of  the 
celebrated  Quos  ego  of  Neptune,  in  the  first  ./Eneid. 
"  And  now,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  where,  or  who,  is  this 
lady  r>" 

The  question  was  scarce  necessary  ;  for  a  plain  car- 
riage, with  four  horses,  came  at  a  foot's-pace  u/wards  the 
door  of  the  Doctor's  house,  and  the  old  women,  now 
more  at  the  r  ease,  gave  the  Doctor  to  understand,  that 


THE    CANONGATE.  23 

the  gentleman  thought  the  accommodation  of  the  Swan 
Inn  totally  unfit  I'oi  his  lady's  rank  and  condition,  and  had, 
by  their  advice,  (each  claiming  the  merit  of  the  sugges- 
tion,) brought  her  here,  to  experience  the  hospitality  of 
the  west-room  ; — a  spare  apartment,  in  which  Doctor 
Gray  occasionally  accommodated  such  patients,  as  he 
desired  to  keep  for  a  space  of  time  under  his  own  eye. 

There  were  two  persons  only  in  the  vehicle.  The 
one,  a  gentleman  in  a  riding  dress,  sprung  out,  and  hav- 
ing received  from  the  Doctor  an  assurance  that  the  lady 
would  receive  tolerable  accommodation  in  his  house,  he 
lent  assistance  to  his  companion  to  leave  the  carriage,  and 
with  great  apparent  satisfaction,  saw  her  safely  deposited 
in  a  decent  sleeping  apartment,  and  under  the  respecta- 
ble charge  of  the  Doctor  and  his  lady,  who  assured  him 
once  more  of  every  species  of  attention.  To  bind  their 
promise  more  firmly,  the  stranger  slipped  a  purse  of 
twenty  guineas  (lor  this  story  chanced  in  the  golden  age) 
into  the  hand  of  the  Doctor,  as  an  earnest  of  the  most 
liberal  recompense,  and  requested  he  would  spare  no 
expense  in  providing  all  that  was  necessary  or  desirable 
for  a  person  in  the  lady's  condition,  and  for  the  helpless 
Deing  to  whom  sije  might  immediately  be  expected  to  give 
birth.  He  then  said  he  would  retire  to  the  inn,  where 
he  begged  a  message  rr.'ght  instantly  acquaint  him  with 
the  expected  change  in  the  lady's  situation. 

"  She  is  of  rank,"  lit  said,  "and  a  foreigner  ;  let  no 
expense  be  spared.      We  designed  to  have  reached  Ed- 
inburgh, but  were  forced  to  turn  off  the  road  by  an  acci 
dent."     Once  more  he  ssid,  "  let  no  expense  be  spared 
and  manage  that  she  may  travel  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  That,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  is  past  my  control.     Na 
Hire  must  not   be   hurried,   and  she  avenges  herself  ol 
every  attempt  to  do  so." 

"  But  art,"  said  the  stranger,  "  can  do  much,"  and 
he  proffered  a  second  purse,  which  seemed  as  heavy  as 
me  first. 

"  Art,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  may  be  recompensed,  but 
cannot  be  purchased.  You  have  already  paid  me  more 


21 


CHRONICLES    OF 


than  enough  to  take  the  utmost  care  I  can  of  your  lady  , 
should  I  accept  more  money,  it  could  only  be  for  prom- 
ising, by  implication  at  least,  what  is  beyond  my  power  to 
perform.  Every  possible  care  shall  be  taken  of  your 
lady,  and  that  affords  the  best  chance  of  her  being  speed- 
ily able  to  travel. — Now,  go  you  to  the  inn,  sir,  for  I  may 
be  instantly  wanted,  and  we  have  not  yet  provided  either 
an  attendant  for  the  lady,  or  a  nurse  for  the  child  ;  but 
ooth  shall  be  presently  done." 

"  Yet  a  moment,  Doctor — what  languages  do  you  un 
derstand  V' 

"  Latin  and  French  I  can  speak  indifferently,  and  so 
as  to  be  understood  ;  and  J  read  a  little  Italian." 

"  But  no  Portuguese  or  Spanish  *?"  continued  the 
stranger. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  That  is  unlucky.  But  you  may  make  her  under- 
stand you  by  means  of  French.  Take  notice,  you  are 
to  comply  with  her  request  in  every  thing — if  you  want 
means  to  do  so,  you  may  apply  to  me." 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  by  what  name  the  lady  is  to  be " 

"  It  is  totally  indifferent,"  said  the  stranger,  interrupt- 
ing the  question  ;  "  you  shall  know  it  at  more  leisure." 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  ample  cloak  about  him,  turn- 
ing himself  half  round  to  assist  the  operation,  with  an  air 
which  the  Doctor  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  imitate, 
and  walked  down  the  street  to  the  little  inn.  Here  he 
paid  and  dismissed  the  postilions,  and  shut  himself  up  in 
an  apartment,  ordering  no  one  to  be  admitted,  till  tne 
Doctor  should  call. 

The  Doctor,  when  he  returned  to  his  patient's  apart- 
ment, found  his  wife  in  great  surprise,  which,  as  is  usual 
with  persons  of  her  character,  was  not  unmixed  with  fear 
and  anxiety. 

"  She  cannot  speak  a  word  like  a  Christian  being/ 
said  Mrs.  Gray. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  But  she  threeps  to  keep  on  a  black  fause-face,  and 
skirls  if  we  offer  to  take  it  away." 


THE    CANONGATE.  25 

"  Well  then,  let  her  wear  it — What  harm  wnl  it  do  T' 

"  Harm,  Doctor  !  Was  ever  honest  woman  brought  to 
bed  with  a  fause-face  on  9'' 

"  Seldom,  perhaps.  But,  Jean,  my  dear,  those  who 
are  not  quite  honest  must  he  brought  to  bed  all  the  same 
as  those  who  are,  and  we  are  not  to  endanger  the  poor 
thing's  life  by  contradicting  her  whims  at  present." 

Approaching  the  sick  woman's  bed,  he  observed  that 
she  indeed  wore  a  thin  silk  mask,  of  the  kind  which  do 
such  uncommon  service  in  the  elder  comedy  ;  such  as  wo- 
men of  rank  still  wore  in  travelling,  but  certainly  never  in 
the  situation  of  this  poor  lady.  It  would  seem  she  had 
sustained  importunity  on  the  subject,  for  when  she  saw 
the  Doctor,  she  put  her  hand  to  her  face,  as  if  she  was 
afraid  he  would  insist  on  pulling  off  the  vizard.  He 
hastened  to  say,  in  tolerable  French,  that  her  will  should 
be  a  law  to  them  in  every  respect,  and  that  she  was  at  per- 
fect liberty  to  wear  the  mask  till  it  was  her  pleasure  to 
lay  it  aside.  She  understood  him  ;  for  she  replied,  by  a 
very  imperfect  attempt,  in  the  same  language,  to  express 
her  gratitude  for  the  permission,  as  she  seemed  to  regard  it, 
of  retaining  her  disguise. 

The  Doctor  proceeded  to  other  arrangements  ;  and, 
for  the  satisfaction  of  those  readers  who  may  love  minute 
•nformation,  we  record,  that  Luckie  Simson,  the  first  in 
the  race,  carried  as  a  prize  the  situation  of  sick-nurse 
Reside  the  delicate  patient  ;  that  Peg  Thomson  was  per- 
mitted the  privilege  of  recommending  her  good-daughter, 
Bet  Jamieson,  to  be  wet-nurse  ;  and  an  oe,  or  grand- 
child of  Luckie  Jaup  was  hired  to  assist  in  the  increased 
drudgery  of  the  family  ;  the  Doctor  thus,  like  a  practised 
minister,  dividing  among  his  trusty  adherents  such  good 
tilings  as  fortune  placed  at  his  disposal. 

About  one  in  the  morning  the  Doctor  made  his  appear- 
ance at  the  Swan  inn,  and  acquainted  the  stranger  gen- 
tleman, that  he  wished  him  joy  of  being  the  father  of  u 
healthy  boy,  and  that  the  mother  was,  in  the  usual  phrase, 
as  well  as  could  be  expected. 
VOL.  n. 


26  cnnoxTCLKs  OF 


The  stranger  heard  the  news  with  speming  satisfaction, 
and  then  exclaimed.  "  He  must  be  christened,  Doctor  ', 
he  must  be  christened  instantly  !" 

"  There  can   be  no  hurry  for  that,"   said  the  Doctor. 

"  We  think  otherwise,"  said  the  stranger,  cutting  his 
argument  short.  "  1  am  a  Catholic,  Doctor,  and  as  I 
may  be  obliged  to  leave  this  place  before  the  lady  is  able 
to  travel,  I  desire  to  see  my  child  received  into  the  pale 
of  the  church.  There  is,  I  understand,  a  Catholic  priest 
in  this  wretched  place  9" 

"  There  is  a  Catholic  gentleman,  sir,  Mr.  Goodriche, 
who  is  reported  to  be  in  orders." 

"  1  commend  your  caution,  Doctor,"  said  the  stranger  ; 
"  it  is  dangerous  to  be  too  positive  on  any  subject.  1  will 
bring  that  same  Mr.  Goodriche  to  your  hou&e  to-rnorrow." 

Gray  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  1  am  a  Presbyterian 
Protestant,  sir,"  he  said.  "  a  friend  to  the  constitution  as 
established  in  church  and  state,  as  I  hav«»  a  good  right, 
having  drawn  his  Majesty's  pay.  God  bless  him,  for  four 
years,  as  surgeon's  mate  in  the  Cameraman  regiment,  as 
rny  regimental  Bible  and  commission  can  testify.  But 
although  1  be  bound  especially  to  abhor  all  trafficking  or 
rinketing  with  Papists,  yet  1  will  not  stand  'n  the  way  ol 
a  tender  conscience.  Sir,  you  may  call  with  Mr.  Good- 
riche, when  you  please,  at  my  house  ;  anu  undoubtedly 
you  being,  as  I  suppose,  the  father  of  the  child,  you  will 
arrange  matters  as  you  please  ;  only  I  do  not  desire  to  be 
thought  an  abettor  or  countenance*  of  any  part  ol  <he 
Popish  ritual." 

"  Enough,  sir,"  said  the  stranger  haughtily,  "  we  un- 
derstand each  other." 

The  next  day  he  appeared  at  the  Doctor's  house  with 
Mr.  Goodriche,  and  two  persons  understcoH  to  belong  to 
that  reverend  gentleman'?  communion.  The  party  were 
shut  up  in  an  apartment  with  the  infant,  and  it  may  be 
presumed  that  the  solemnity  of  baptism  was  administered 
to  the  unconscious  being,  thus  strangely  launcned  upon 
the  world.  When  the  priest  and  witnesses  had  retired 
the  strange  gentleman  informed  Mr.  Gray,  that,  as  the 


THE    CA.VONGATK.  27 

lady  had  been  pronounced  unfit  for  travelling  for  sereral 
.lays,  he  was  himself  about  to  leave  the  neighbourhood, 
but  would  return  thither  in  the  space  of  ten  days,  when 
he  hoped  to  find  his  companion  able  to  leave  it. 

"  And  by  what  name  are  we  to  call  the  child  and  moth 
er  9" 

"  The  infant's  name  is  Richard." 

"  But  it  must  have  some  surname — so  must  the  lady — 
She  cannot  reside  in  my  house,  yet  be  without  a  name." 

"  Call  them  by  the  name  of  your  town  here — Middle- 
mas,  I  think  it  is*?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Middlemas  is  the  name  of  the  mother, 
and  Richard  Middlemas  of  the  child — and  I  am  Matthew 
Middlemas,  at  your  service.  This,"  he  continued,  "  w\V- 
provide  Mrs.  Middlemas  in  everything  she  may  wish  to 
possess — or  assist  her  in  case  of  accidents."  With  that 
he  placed  £100  in  Mr.  Gray's  hand,  who  rather  scrupled 
receiving  it,  saying,  "  He  supposed  the  lady  was  qualifi- 
ed to  be  her  own  purse-bearer." 

"  The  worst  in  the  world,  I  assure  you,  Doctor,"  re- 
plied the  stranger.  "  If  she  wished  to  change  that  piece 
of  paper,  she  would  scarce  know  how  many  guineas  sh*1 
should  receive  for  it.  No,  Mr.  Gray,  I  assure  you  you 
will  find  Mrs.  Middleton — Middlemas — what  did  I  call 
her — as  ignorant  of  the  affairs  of  this  world  as  any  one 
you  have  met  with  in  your  practice  :  So  you  will  please 
to  be  her  treasurer  and  administrator  for  the  time,  as  for 
a  patient  that  is  incapable  to  look  after  her  own  affairs." 

This  was  spoke,  as  it  struck  Dr.  Gray,  in  rather  a  haugh  • 
ty  and  supercilious  manner.  The  words  intimated  noth- 
ng  in  themselves,  more  than  the  same  desire  of  preserving 
incognito,  which  might  be  gathered  from  all  the  rest  ol 
the  stranger's  conduct ;  but  the  manner  seemed  to  say, 
•'  I  am  not  a  person  to  be  questioned  by  any  one — What 
I  say  must  be  received  without  comment,  'now  little  so- 
ever you  may  believe  or  understand  it."  It  strengthened 
Gray  in  his  opinion,  that  he  had  before  him  a  case  either 
of  seduction,  or  of  private  marriage,  betwixt  persons  ol 


28  CHRONICLES     J)F 

the  very  highest  rank  ;  and  the  whole  bearing,  both  ol 
the  lady  and  the  gentleman,  confirmed  his  suspicions. 
It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be  troublesome  or  inquisitive, 
out  he  could  not  fail  to  see  that  the  lady  wore  no  mar- 
riage-ring ;  and  her  deep  sorrow,  and  perpetual  tremor 
seemed  to  indicate  an  unhappy  creature,  who  had  lost 
the  protection  of  parents,  without  acquiring  a  legitimate 
right  to  that  of  a  husband.  He  was  therefore  somewhat 
anxious  when  Mr.  Middlemas,  after  a  private  conference 
of  some  length  with  the  lady,  bade  him  farewell.  It  is 
true,  he  assured  him  of  his  return  within  ten  days,  being 
the  very  shortest  space  which  Gray  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  assign  for  any  prospect  of  the  lady  being  moved 
with  safety. 

"  1  trust  in  Heaven  that  he  will  return,"  said  Gray  to 
himself;  "  but  there  is  too  much  mystery  about  all  this,  for 
the  matter  being  a  plain  and  well-meaning  transaction. 
If  he  intends  to  treat  this  poor  thing,  as  many  a  poor  girl 
has  been  used  before,  I  hope  that  my  house  will  not  be  the 
scene  in  which  he  chooses  to  desert  her.  The  leaving 
the  money  has  somewhat  a  suspicious  aspect,  and  looks 
as  if  my  friend  were  in  the  act  of  making  some  compro- 
mise with  his  conscience.  Well — I  must  hope  the  best. 
Meantime  my  path  plainly  is  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  poor 
lady's  benefit." 

Mr.  Gray  visited  his  patient  shortly  after  Mr.  Middle- 
mas's  departure — as  soon,  indeed,  as  he  could  be  admitted. 
He  found  her  in  violent  agitation.  Gray's  experience 
dictated  the  best  mode  of  relief  and  tranquillity.  He 
caused  her  infant  to  be  brought  to  her.  She  wept  over  it 
for  a  long  time,  and  the  violence  of  her  agitation  subsided 
under  the  influence  of  parental  feelings,  which,  from  her 
appearance  of  extreme  youth,  she  must  have  experienced 
for  the  first  time. 

The  observant  physician  could,  after  this  paroxysm 
remark  that  his  patient's  mind  was  chiefly  occupied  in 
computing  the  passage  of  the  time,  and  anticipating  the 
period  when  the  return  of  her  husband — if  husband  he 
was — might  be  expected.  She  consulted  almanacks,  in- 


THE    CANO1VGATE.  29 

quired  concerning  distances,  though  so  cautiously  as  to 
make  it  evident  she  desired  to  give  no  indication  of  the 
direction  of  her  companion's  journey,  and  repeatedly  com- 
pared her  watch  with  those  of  others ;  exercising,  it  was 
evident,  all  that  delusive  species  of  mental  arithmetic,  by 
which  mortals  attempt  to  accelerate  the  passage  of  Time 
wnile  they  calculate  his  progress.  At  other  times  she 
wept  anew  over  her  child,  which  was  by  all  judges  pro- 
nounced as  goodly  an  infant  as  needed  to  be  seen  ;  and 
Gray  sometimes  observed  that  she  murmured  sentences 
to  the  unconscious  infant,  not  only  the  words,  but  the  very 
sound  and  accents  of  which  "were  strange  to  him,  and 
which,  in  particular,  he  knew  not  to  be  Portuguese. 

Mr.  Goodriche,  the  Catholic  priest,  demanded  access 
to  her  upon  one  occasion.  She  at  first  declined  his  visit, 
but  afterwards  received  it,  under  the  idea,  perhaps,  that 
he  might  have  news  from  Mr.  Middlernas,  as  he  called 
himself.  The  interview  was  a  very  short  one,  and  the 
priest  left  the  lady's  apartment  in  displeasure,  which  his 
prudence  could  scarce  disguise  from  Mr.  Gray.  He 
never  returned,  although  the  lady's  condition  would  have 
made  his  attentions  and  consolations  necessary,  had  she 
been  a  member  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

Our  Doctor  began  at  length  to  suspect  his  fair  guest  was 
a  Jewess,  who  had  yielded  up  her  person  and  affections 
to  one  of  a  different  religion  ;  and  the  peculiar  style  of 
her  beautiful  countenance  went  to  enforce  this  opinion 
The  circumstance  made  no  difference  to  Gray,  who  saw 
only  her  distress  and  desolation,  and  endeavoured  to  rem- 
edy both  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  He  was,  however, 
desirous  to  conceal  it  from  his  wife,  and  the  others  around 
the  sick  person,  whose  prudence  and  liberality  of  thinking 
might  be  more  justly  doubted.  He  therefore  so  regulated 
her  diet,  that  she  could  not  be  either  offended,  or  brought 
under  suspicion,  by  any  of  the  articles  forbidden  by  the 
Mosaic  law  being  presented  to  her.  In  other  respects 
than  what  concerned  her  health  or  convenience,  he  had 
but  little  intercourse  with  her. 
VOL..  11. 


SO  CHRONICLES    OF 

The  space  passed  within  which  the  stranger's  return 
to  the  borough  had  been  so  anxiously  expected  by  his 
female  companion.  The  disappointment  occasioned  by 
his  non-arrival  was  manifested  in  the  convalescent  by  in- 
quietude, which  was  at  first  mingled  with  peevishness,  and 
afterwards  with  doubt  and  fear.  When  two  or  three 
days  had  passed  without  message  or  letter  of  any  kind, 
Gray  himself  became  anxious,  both  on  his  own  account 
and  the  poor  lady's,  lest  the  stranger  should  have  actually 
entertained  the  idea  of  deserting  this  defenceless  and  prob- 
ably injured  woman.  He  longed  to  have  some  commu- 
nication with  her,  which  might  enable  him  to  judge  what 
inquiries  could  be  made,  or  what  else  was  most  fitting  to 
be  done.  But  so  imperfect  was  the  poor  young  woman's 
knowledge  of  the  French  language,  and  perhaps  so  un- 
willing she  herself  to  throw  any  light  on  her  situation,  that 
every  attempt  of  this  kind  proved  abortive.  When  Gray 
asked  questions  concerning  any  subject  which  appeared 
to  approach  to  explanation,  he  observed  she  usually  an- 
swered him  by  shaking  her  head,  in  token  of  not  under- 
standing what  he  said  ;  at  other  times  by  silence  and  with 
tears,  and  sometimes  referring  him  to  Monsieur. 

For  Monsieur's  arrival,  then,  Gray  began  to  become 
very  impatient,  as  that  which  alone  could  put  an  end  to  a 
disagreeable  species  of  mystery,  which  the  good  company 
of  the  borough  began  now  to  make  the  principal  subject 
of  their  gossip  ;  some  blaming  Gray  for  taking  foreign 
landlon/jers^into  his  house,  on  the  subject  of  whose  morals 
the  most  serious  doubts  might  be  entertained  ;  others  en- 
vying the  "  bonny  hand"  the  Doctor  was  like  to  make  of 
it,  by  having  disposal  of  the  wealthy  stranger's  travelling 
funds  ;  a  circumstance  which  could  not  be  well  concealed 
from  the  public,  when  the  honest  man's  expenditure  for 
trifling  articles  of  luxury  came  far  to  exceed  its  ordinary 
bounds. 

The  conscious  probity  of  the  honest  Doctor  enabled 
him  to  despise  this  sort  of  tittle-tattle,  though  the  secret 
knowledge  of  its  existence  could  not  be  agreeable  to  him. 
H }  went  his  usual  rounds  with  his  usual  perseverance, 


THK    CANOXGATE.  31 

and  wailed  with  patience  until  time  should  throw  tight  on 
the  subject  ami  history  of  nis  lodger.  It  was  now  the 
fourth  week  after  her  confinement,  and  the  recovery  ol 
the  stranger  might  be  considered  as  perfect,  when  Gray 
returning  from  one  of  his  ten-mile  visits,  saw  a  post-chaise 
and  lour  horses  at  the  door.  "  This  man  has  returned," 
he  said,  "  and  my  suspicions  have  done  him  less  than 
iustice."  With  that  he  spurred  his  hor?p.  a  signal  which 
the  trusty  steed  obeyed  the  more  readily,  as  its  progress 
was  in  the  direction  of  the  siciule-door.  But  when,  dis- 
mounting, the  Doctor  hurried  into  his  own  house,  it  seem- 
ed to  him,  that  the  departure  as  well  as  the  arrival  of  this 
distressed  lady  w?.s  destined  to  bring  confusion  to  his 
peaceful  dwelling.  Several  idlers  had  assembled  about 
his  door,  and  tvvo  or  tluce  nad  impudently  thrust  them- 
selves forward  almost  into  the  passage,  to  listen  to  a  con- 
fused altercation  which  was  heard  from  within. 

The  Doctor  ha^'ened  forward,  the  foremost  of  the  in- 
truders retreating  in  confusion  on  his  approach,  while  he 
caught  the  tones  of  iiis  wife's  voice,  raised  to  a  pitch  which 
he  knew,  by  experience,  boded  no  good  ;  for  Mrs.  Gray, 
good-humoureu  and  tractable  in  general,  couid  sometimes 
perform  the  high  part  in  a  matrimonial  duet.  Having 
much  more  confidence  in  his  wife's  good  intentions  than 
her  prudence,  he  lost  no  time  in  pushing  into  the  parlour, 
to  lake  the  matter  into  his  own  hands.  Here  he  found 
his  helpmate  at  the  head  of  the  whole  militia  of  the  sick 
Irdy's  apartment,  that  is,  wet  nurse,  and  sick  nurse,  and 
girl  of  all  work,  engaged  in  violent  dispute  with  two  stran- 
gers. The  one  was  a  dark-featured  elderly  man,  with  an 
eye  of  much  sharpness  and  severity  of  expression,  which 
now  seemed  partly  quenched  by  a  mixture  of  grief  and 
mortification.  The  other,  who  appeared  actively  sustain- 
ing  the  dispute  with  Mrs.  Gray,  was  a  stout,  bold-looking 
hard-faced  person,  armed  with  pistols,  of  which  he  made 
ather  an  unnecessary  and  ostentatious  display. 

"  Here  is  my  husband,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gray  in  a  tone 
of  triumph,  for  she  had  the  grace  to  believe  the  Doctoi 


32  CHROMCLBS    OF 

one  of  the  greatest  men  living, — "  Here  is  the  Doctor- 
let  us  see  what  you  will  say  now." 

"  Why,  just  what  I  said  before,  ma'am,"  answered  the 
man,  "  which  is,  that  my  warrant  must  be  obeyed.  It  is 
regular,  ma'am,  regular." 

So  saying,  he  struck  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand 
against  a  paper  which  he  held  towards  Mrs.  Gray  with 
his  left. 

"  Address  yourself  to  me,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  the 
Doctor,  seeing  that  he  ought  to  lose  no  time  in  removing 
the  cause  into  the  proper  court.  "  I  am  the  master  of  this 
house,  sir,  and  I  wish  to  know  the  cause  of  this  visit." 

"My  business  is  soon  told,"  said  the  man.  "  I  am  a 
king's  messenger,  and  this  lady  has  treated  me,  as  if  I  was 
a  baron-baillie's  officer." 

"  That  is  not  the  question,  sir,"  replied  the  Doctor. 
"  If  you  are  a  king's  messenger,  where  is  your  warrant, 
and  what  do  you  propose  to  do  here  *?"  At  the  same  time 
he  whispered  the  little  wench  to  call  Mr.  Lawford,  the 
town-clerk,  to  come  thither  as  fast  as  he  possibly  could. 
The  good-daughter  of  Peg  Thomson  started  off  with  an 
activity  worthy  of  her  mother-in-law. 

"There  is  my  warrant,"  said  the  official,  "  and  you 
may  satisfy  yourself." 

"  The  shameless  loon  dare  not  tell  the  Doctor  his  er- 
rand," said  Mrs.  Gray  exultingly. 

"  A  bonny  errand  it  is,"  said  old  Luckie  Sirnson,  "  to 
carry  away  a  lying-in  woman,  as  a  gled3would  do  a  clock- 
ing-hen." 

"  A  woman  no  a  month  delivered" — echoed  the  nurse 
Jamieson. 

"  Twenty-four  days  eight  hours  and  seven  minutes  t3 
a  second,"  said  Mrs.  Gray. 

The  Doctor  having  looked  over  the  warrant,  which  was 
regular,  began  to  be  afraid  that  the  females  of  his  family, 
in  their  zeal  for  defending  the  character  of  their  sex, 
might  be  stirred  up  into  some  sudden  fit  of  mutiny,  and 
therefore  commanded  them  to  be  silent. 


THE    CAJNOKGATE.  33 

'This,"  he  said,  "  is  a  warrant  for  arresting  the  bodies 
of  Richard  Tresham,  and  of  Zilia  de  Monc^ida,  on  ac- 
count of  High  Treason.  Sir,  I  have  served  his  Majesty, 
and  this  is  not  a  house  in  which  traitors  are  harboured.  I 
know  nothing  of  any  of  these  two  persons,  nor  have  1  ever 
heard  even  their  names." 

"  But  the  lady  whom  you  have  received  into  your  fam- 
ily," said  the  messenger,  "  is  Zilia  de  Monqada,  and  here 
stands  her  father,  Matthius  de  Moncada,  who  will  make 
oath  to  it." 

"  If  this  be  true,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  looking  towards  the 
alleged  officer,  "  you  have  taken  a  singular  duty  on  you. 
It  is  neither  my  habit  to  deny  my  own  actions,  nor  to  op- 
pose the  laws  of  the  land.  There  is  a  lady  in  this  house 
slowly  recovering  from  confinement,  having  become  undei 
this  roof  the  mother  of  a  healthy  child.  If  she  be  the  person 
described  in  this  warrant,  and  this  gentleman's  daughter, 
1  must  surrender  her  to  the  laws  of  the  country." 

Here  the  Esculapian  militia  were  once  more  in  motion. 

"  Surrender,  Dr.  Gray  !  It's  a  shame  to  hear  you 
speak,  and  you  that  lives  by  women  and  weans,  abune 
your  other  means  !"  so  exclaimed  his  fair  bettdr  part. 

"  I  wonder  to  hear  the  Doctor  !" — said  the  younger 
nurse  ;  "  there's  no  a  wife  in  the  town  would  believe  it 
o'  him." 

"  1  aye  thought  the  Doctor  was  a  man  till  this  moment," 
said  Luckie  Simson  ;  "  but  I  believe  him  now  to  be  an 
auld  wife,  little  baulder  than  mysell ;  and  I  dinna  wonder 
now  that  poor  Mrs.  Gray " 

''  Hold  your  peace,  you  foolish  women,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "  Do  you  think  this  business  is  not  bad  enough  al- 
ready, that  you  are  making  it  worse  with  your  senseless 
claver  ?4 — Gentlemen,  this  is  a  very  sad  case.  Here  is  a 
\\arrant  for  a  high  crime  against  a  poor  creature,  who  is 
little  fit  to  be  moved  from  one  house  to  another,  much 
more  dragged  to  a  prison.  I  tell  you  plainly,  that  I  think 
the  execution  of  this  arrest  may  cause  her  death.  It  is 
yorr  business,  sir,  if  you  be  really  her  father,  to  considei 


34  CHRONICLES    OF 

what  you  can  do  to  soften  this  matter,  rather  than  drive  il 
•jt,." 

"  Better  death  than  dishonour,"  replied  the  stern-look- 
ing old  man,  vvitli  a  voice  as  harsh  as  his  aspect ;  "  and 
you,  messenger,"  he  continued,  "  look  what  you  do,  and 
execute  the  warrant  at  your  peril." 

i%  You  hear,"  said  the  man,  appealing  to  the  Doctor 
Himself,  "  1  must  have  immediate  access  to  the  lady." 

'•  In  a  kicky  time,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  "  here  comes  the 
town-clerk. — You  are  very  welcome,  Mr.  Lawford.  Your 
opinion  here  is  much  wanted  as  a  man  of  law,  as  well  aa 
of  sense  and  humanity.  I  was  never  more  glad  to  see 
you  in  al!  my  life." 

He  then  rapidly  stated  the  case  ;  and  the  messenger, 
understanding  the  new-comer  to  be  a  man  of  some  au- 
thority, again  exhibited  his  warrant. 

"  This  is  a  very  sufficient  and  valid  warrant,  Dr.  Gray," 
replied  the  rrjan  of  law.  "  Nevertheless,  if  you  are  dis- 
posed to  make  oath,  that  instant  removal  would  be  un- 
favourable 10  the  iadyrs  health,  unquestionably  she  must 
remain  here,  suitably  guarded." 

"  It  is  not  so  much  the  mere  act  of  locomotion  which  I 
am  afraid  of,"  said  the  surgeon  ;  "  but  I  am  free  to  de- 
pone, on  soul  and  conscience,  that  the  shame  and  fear  of 
her  lather's  anger,  and  the  sense  of  the  affront  of  such  an 
arrest,  with  terror  for  its  consequences,  may  occasion  vio- 
lent and  dangerous  illness — even  death  itself." 

"  The  father  must  see  the  daughter,  though  they  may 
have  quarrelled,"  said  JVlr.  Lawford  ;  "  the  officer  of 
iustice  must  execute  his  warrant,  though  it  should  frighten 
the  criminal  to  death  ;  these  evils  are  only  contingent,  not 
direct  and  immediate  consequences.  You  must  give  up 
the  ady,  Mr.  Gray,  though  your  hesitation  is  very  natural.' 

"  Al  least,  Mr.  Lawford,  I  ought  to  be  certain  that  the 
person  in  my  house  is  the  party  they  search  for." 

"  Admit  me  to  her  apartment,"  replied  the  man  whono 
il-e  messenger  termed  Mon^ada. 


THE    CANONGATK.  & 

The  messenger,  whom  the  presence  of  Lavvford  had 
made  something  more  placid,  began  to  become  impudent 
once  more.  He  hoped,  he  said,  by  means  of  his  female 
prisoner,  to  acquire  the  information  necessary  to  appre- 
hend the  more  guilty  person.  If  more  delays  were  thrown 
in  his  way,  that  information  might  come  too  late,  and  he 
would  make  all  who  were  accessary  to  such  delay  respon- 
sible for  the  consequences. 

"  And  1,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  "  though  I  were  to  be  brought 
to  the  gallows  for  it,  protest,  that  this  course  may  be  the 
murder  of  my  patient.— Can  bail  not  be  taken,  Mr.  Law- 
ford  9" 

"  Not  in  cases  of  high  treason,"  said  the  official  per- 
son :  and  then  continued  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  Come, 
Mr.  Gray,  we  all  know  you  to  be  a  person  weil  affected 
to  our  Royal  Sovereign  King  George  and  the  Govern- 
ment ;  but  you  must  not  push  this  too  far,  lest  you  bring 
yourself  into  trouble,  which  every  body  in  Middlemas 
would  be  sorry  for.  The  forty-five  has  not  been  so  far 
gone  by,  but  we  can  remember  enough  of  warrants  ot 
high  treason — ay,  and  ladies  of  quality  committed  upon 
such  charges.  But  they  were  all  favourably  dealt  with — 
Lady  Ogilvy,  Lady  Macintosh,  Flora  Macdonald,  and 
all.  No  doubt  this  gentleman  knows  what  he  is  doing, 
and  has  assurances  of  the  young  lady's  safety — So  you 
must  just  jouk  and  let  the  jaw  gae  by,  as  we  say." 

"  Follow  me,  then,  gentlemen,"  said  Gideon,  "  and 
you  shall  see  the  young  lady  ;"  and  then,  his  strong  fea- 
tures wcrking  with  emotion  at  anticipation  of  the  distress 
which  he  was  about  to  inflict,  he  led  the  way  up  the  small 
staircase  and  opening  the  door,  said  to  Mon^ada  who  had 
followed  him,  "  This  is  your  daughter's  only  place  of  re- 
fuge, in  which  I  am,  alas  !  too  weak  to  be  her  protector. 
Enter,  s'r,  if  vour  conscience  will  permit  you." 

The  stranger  turned  on  h'm  a  scowl,  into  which  it  seem- 
ed as  if  he  wuuld  willingly  have  thrown  the  power  ol  the 
fabled  basilisk.  Then  stepping  proudly  forward,  ne  sr-i!k- 
ed  into  the  room.  He  was  followed  by  Law  ford  and  Gray, 
Bt  a  little  distance.  The  messenger  remained  in  the  door- 


36  CHRONICLES    OF 

way.  The  unhappy  young  woman  had  he;  rd  the  distur 
Dance,  and  guessed  the  cause  too  truly.  It  s  possible  she 
might  even  have  seon  the  strangers  on  their  descent  from 
the  carriage.  When  they  entered  the  room,  she  was  on 
her  knees,  beside  an  easy  chair,  her  face  in  a  silk  wrapper 
that  was  hung  over  it.  The  man  called  Monc.ada  uttered 
a  single  word  ;  by  the  accent  it  might  have  been  some- 
thing equivalent  to  wretch ;  but  none  knew  its  import. 
The  female  gave  a  convulsive  shudder,  such  as  that  by 
which  a  half-dying  soldier  is  affected  on  receiving  a  second 
wound.  But  without  minding  her  emotion,  Monc^ida  seiz- 
ed her  by  the  arm,  and  with  little  gentleness  raised  her 
to  her  feet,  on  which  she  seemed  to  stand  only  because 
she  was  supported  by  his  strong  grasp.  He  then  pulled 
from  her  face  the  mask  which  she  had  hitherto  worn. 
The  poor  creature  still  endeavoured  to  shroud  her 
face,  by  covering  it  with  her  left  hand,  as  the  manner 
in  which  she  was  held  prevented  her  from  using  the  aid 
of  the  right.  With  little  effort  her  father  secured  that 
hand  also,  which,  indeed,  was  of  itself  far  too  little  to 
serve  the  purpose  of  concealment,  and  showed  her  beau- 
tiful face,  burning  with  blushes  and  covered  with  tears. 

"  You  Alcalde,  and  you  Surgeon,"  he  said  to  Lawford 
and  Gray,  with  a  foreign  action  and  accent,  "  this  woman 
is  my  daughter,  the  same  Zilia  Mon^ada  who  is  signal'd 
in  that  protocol.  Make  way,  and  let  me  carry  her  where 
her  crimes  may  be  atoned  for." 

"  Are  you  that  person's  daughter  *?"  said  Lawford  to 
the  lady. 

"  She  understands  no   English,"  said  Gray  ;  and  ad 
dressing  his   patient  in    French,  conjured  her  to  let  him 
know  whether  she  was  that  man's  daughter  or  not,  assur 
ing  her  of  protection   if  the  fact  were  otherwise.     The 
answer  was  murmured   faintly,  but  was  too  distinctly  in- 
telligible— "  He  was  her  father." 

All  farther  title  of  interference  seemed  now  ended. 
The  messenger  arrested  his  prisoner,  and,  with  some  deli- 
cacy, required  the  assistance  of  the  females  to  get  her 
conveyed  to  the  carriage  in  waiting. 


THE    CANONGATE.  81 

Gray  again  interfered — "  You  will  not,"  he  said, 
1  separate  the  mother  and  the  infant  '?" 

Zilia  de  Mon^ada  heard  the  question,  (which,  being  nd- 
dressed  to  the  father,  Gray  had  inconsiderately  uttered  in 
French,)  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  recalled  to  her  recollection 
the  existence  of  the  helpless  creature  to  which  she  had 
given  birth,  forgotten  for  a  moment  amongst  the  accumu- 
lated horrors  of  her  father's  presence.  She  uttered  a 
shriek,  expressing  poignant  grief!,  and  turned  her  eyes 
on  her  father  with  the  most  intense  supplication. 

"  To  the  parish  with  the  bastard  !"; — said  Monc.ada  ; 
while  the  helpless  mother  sunk  lifeless  into  the  arms  01 
the  females  who  had  now  gathered  round  her. 

"  That  will  not  pass,  sir,"  said  Gideon.—"  If  you 
are  the  father  to  that  lady,  you  must  be  grandfather  to  the 
helpless  child ;  and  you  must  settle  in  some  manner  for  its 
future  provision,  or  refer  us  to  some  responsible  person. 

Monc.ada  looked  towards  Lawford,  who  expressed  him- 
self satisfied  of  the  propriety  of  what  Gray  said. 

"  I  object  not  to  pay  for  whatever  the  wretched  child 
may  require,"  said  he  ;  "  and  if  you,  sir,"  addressing 
Gray,  "  choose  to  take  charge  of  him,  and  breed  him  up, 
you  shall  have  what  will  better  your  living." 

The  Doctor  was  about  to  refuse  a  charge  so  uncivilly 
offered  ;  but  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  replied,  "  I 
think  so  indifferently  of  the  proceedings  I  have  witnessed, 
and  of  those  concerned  in  them,  that  if  the  mother  de- 
sires that  I  should  retain  the  charge  of  this  child,  I  will 
not  refuse  to  do  so." 

Monc^ida  spoke  to  his  daughter,  who  was  just  begin- 
ning to  recover  from  her  swoon,  in  the  same  language  in 
which  he  had  first  addressed  her.  The  proposition  which 
he  made  seemed  highly  acceptable,  as  she  started  from 
the  arms  of  the  females,  and,  advancing  to  Gray,  seized 
his  hand,  kissed  it,  bathed  it  in  her  tears,  and  seemed  re- 
conciled, even  in  parting  with  her  child,  by  the  considera- 
tion, that  the  infant  was  to  remain  under  his  guardianship. 
540 


38  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  Good,  kind  man,"  she  said  in  her  indifferent  French 
'  you  have  saved  both  mother  and  child." 

The  lather,  meanwhile,  with  mercantile  deliberation 
placed  in  Mr.  Lawford's  hands  notes  and  bills  to  the 
amount  of  a  thousand  pounds,  which  he  stated  was  to  be 
vested  for  the  child's  use,  and  advanced  in  such  portions 
as  his  board  and  education  might  require.  In  the  event 
of  any  correspondence  on  his  account  being  necessary,  as 
in  case  of  death  or  the  like,  he  directed  that  communica- 
tion should  be  made  to  Signior  Matthias  Monc.ada,  under 
cover  to  a  certain  banking-house  in  London. 

"  But  beware,"  he  said  to  Gray,  "  how  you  trouble 
me  about  these  concerns,  unless  in  case  of  absolute  ne- 
cessity." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  sir,"  replied  Gray  ;  "  I  have  seen 
nothing  to-day  which  can  induce  me  to  desire  a  more  in- 
timate correspondence  with  you  than  may  be  indispen- 
sable." 

While  Lawford  drew  up  a  proper  minute  of  this  trans- 
action, by  which  he  himself  and  Gray  were  named  trustees 
for  the  child,  Mr.  Gray  attempted  to  restore  to  the  lady 
the  balance  of  the  considerable  sum  of  money  which 
Tresham  (if  such  was  his  real  name)  had  formerly  de 
posited  with  him.  With  every  species  of  gesture,  by 
which  hands,  eyes,  and  even  feet,  could  express  reject- 
tion,  as  well  as  in  her  own  broken  French,  she  repelled 
the  proposal  of  reimbursement,  while  she  entreated  that 
Gray  would  consider  the  money  as  his  own  property  ;  and 
at  the  same  time,  forced  upon  him  a  ring  set  with  brilliants, 
which  seemed  of  considerable  value.  The  father  thet 
spoke  to  her  a  few  stern  words,  which  she  heard  with  at 
air  of  mingled  agony  and  submission. 

"  I  have  given  her  a  few  minutes  to  see  and  weep  ovei 
the  miserable   being  which  has  been  the  seal  of  her  dis 
Honour,"    said   the  stern   father.     "  Let  us   retire,    and 
leave  her  alone. — You,  (to  the  messenger,)  watch  the 
door  of  the  room  on  the  outside." 

G.'ay,  Lawford,  and  Mon^ada,  retired  to  the  parlour 
accordingly,  where  they  waited  in  silence,  each  busied 


THE    CANOKfGATE.  39 

with  his  own  reflections,  till,  within  the  space  of  half  aa 
hour,  they  received  information  that  the  lady  was  /eady 
to  depart. 

"  It  is  well,"  replied  Mon^ada  ;  "  I  am  glad  she  has  yet 
sense  enough  left  to  submit  to  that  which  needs  tniibt  be." 

So  saying,  he  ascended  the  stair,  and  returned,  leading 
down  his  daughter,  now  again  masked  and  veiled.  As 
she  passed  Gray,  she  uttered  the  words — "  My  ch.ld,  my 
child  !"  in  a  tone  of  unutterable  anguish  ;  then  entered 
the  carriage,  which  was  drawn  up  as  close  to  the  door  of 
the  Doctor's  house  as  the  little  enclosure  would  permit. 
The  messenger,  mounted  on  a  led  horse,  and  accompa- 
nied by  a  servant  and  assistant,  followed  the  carriage, 
which  drove  rapidly  off,  taking  the  road  which  leads  to 
Edinburgh.  All  who  had  witnessed  this  strange  scene, 
now  departed  to  make  their  conjectures,  and  some  to  count 
their  gains  ;  for  money  had  been  distributed  among  the 
females  who  had  attended  on  the  lady,  with  so  much  lib- 
erality, as  considerably  to  reconcile  them  to  the  breach  of 
the  rights  of  womanhood  inflicted  by  the  precipitate  re- 
moval of  'the  patient. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  last  cloud  of  dust  which  the  wheels  of  the  car- 
riage had  raised  was  dissipated,  when  dinner,  which  claims 
a  share  of  human  thoughts  even  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
marvellous  and  affecting  incidents,  recurred  to  those  of 
Airs.  Gray 

"  Indeed,  Doctor,  you  will  stand  glowering  out  of  the 
window  till  some  other  patient  calls  for  you,  and  then  have 
to  set  off  without  your  dinner  ; — and  I  hope  Mr.  Lawford 
will  take  pot-luck  with  us,  for  it  is  just  his  own  hour  :,  and 


C1IUOMCLKS    OF 

indeed  we  had  something  rather  better,  than  ordinary  foi 
this  poor  lady — lamb  and  spinnage,  and  a  veal  Florentine.' 

The  surgeon  started  as  from  a  dream,  and  joined  in 
nis  wife's  hospitable  request,  to  which  Lawford  willingly 
assented. 

We  will  suppose  the  meal  finished,  a  bottle  of  old  and 
generous  Antigua  upon  the  table,  and  a  modest  little 
punch-bowl,  judiciously  replenished  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  the  Doctor  and  his  guest.  Their  conversation 
naturally  turned  on  the  strange  scene  which  they  had  wit- 
nessed, and  the  Town-Clerk  took  considerable  merit  for 
his  presence  of  mind. 

"  I  am  thinking,  Doctor,"  said  he,  "  you  might  have 
Drewed  a  bitter  brovvst  to  yourself  if  I  had  not  come  in 
as  I  did." 

"  Troth,  and  it  might  very  well  so  be,"  answered  Gray  ; 
"  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  when  1  saw  yonder  fellow  va- 
pouring with  his  pistols  among  the  women  folk  in  my  own 
house,  the  old  Cameronian  spirit  began  to  rise  in  me,  and 
ittle  thing  would  have  made  me  cleek  to  the  poker." 

"  Hoot !  hoot !  that  would  never  have  done.s  Na,  na," 
said  the  man  of  law,  "  this  was  a  case  where  a  little  pru- 
dence was  worth  all  the  pistols  and  pokers  in  the  world." 

"  And  that  was  just  what  I  thought  when  I  sent  to  you, 
Clerk  Lawford,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  A  wiser  man  he  could  not  have  called  on  to  a  difficult 
case,"  added  Mrs.  Gray,  as  she  sat  with  her  work  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  table. 

"  Thanks  t'ye,  and  here's  t'ye,  my  good  ne  gliDour," 
answered  the  scribe  ;  "  will  you  not  let  rne  help  you  to 
another  glass  of  punch,  Mrs.  Gray  9"  This  being  declin- 
ed, he  proceeded.  "  I  am  jalousing  that  the  messenger 
and  his  warrant  were  just  brought  in  to  prevent  any  op- 
position. Ye  saw  how  quietly  he  behaved  after  I  had  laid 
down  the  law — I'll  never  believe  the  lady  is  in  any  risk 
from  him.  But  the  father  is  a  dour  chield  ;  depend  upon 
it,  he  has  bred  up  the  young  filly  on  the  curb-rein,  and 
th/U  has  made  the  poor  thing  start  off  the  course.  1  should 


THE    CANONGATE.  41 

not  be  surprised  that  he  took  her  abroad,  and  shuiher  up 
in  a  convent." 

"  Hardly,"  replied  Dr.  Gray,  "  if  it  be  true,  as  I  sus- 
pect, that  both  the  father  and  daughter  are  of  the  Jewish 
persuasion." 

"  A  Jew  !"  said  Mrs.  Gray  ;  "  and  have  I  been  taking 
a'  this  fyke  about  a  Jew  *? — I  thought  she  seemed  to  gie 
a  scunner  at  the  eggs  and  bacon  that  Nurse  Simson  spoke 
about  to  her.  But  I  thought  Jews  had  aye  had  lang  beards, 
and  yon  man's  face  is  just  like  one  of  our  ain  folks — 1 
have  seen  the  Doctor  with  a  langer  beard  himsell,  when 
he  has  not  had  leisure  to  shave." 

"  That  might  have  been  Mr.  Mon^ada's  case,"  said 
Lawford,  "  for  he  seemed  to  have  had  a  hard  journey. 
But  the  Jews  are  often  very  respectable  people,  Mrs. 
Gray — they  have  no  territorial  property,  because  the  law 
is  against  them  there,  but  they  have  a  good  hank  in  the 
money  market — plenty  of  stock  in  the  funds,  Mrs.  Gray  , 
and,  indeed,  I  think  this  poor  young  woman  is  better  with 
her  ain  father,  though  he  be  a  Jew  and  a  dour  chield  into 
the  bargain,  than  she  would  have  been  with  the  loon  that 
wranged  her,  who  is,  by  your  account,  Dr.  Gray,  baith  a 
papist  and  a  rebel.  The  Jews  are  well  attached  to  gov- 
ernment ;  they  hate  the  Pope,  the  Devil,  and  ihe  Pre- 
tender, as  much  as  any  honest  man  among  ourselves." 

"  I  cannot  admire  either  of  the  gentlemen,"  said  Gid- 
eon. "  But  it  is  but  fair  to  say,  that  I  saw  Mr.  Mon- 
c.ada  when  he  was  highly  incensed,  and  to  all  appearance 
not  without  reason.  Now,  this  other  man  Tresham,  if 
that  be  his  name,  was  haughty  to  me,  and  I  think  some- 
thing careless  of  the  poor  young  woman,  just  at  the  time 
when  he  owed  her  most  kindness,  and  me  some  thank- 
fulness. I  arn,  therefore,  of  your  opinion,  Clerk  Law- 
ford,  that  the  Christian  is  the  worse  bargain  of  the  two." 

"  And  you  think  of  taking  care  of  this  wean  yourself 
Doctor"?  That  is  what  I  call  the  good, Samaritan." 

"  At  cheap  cost,  Clerk  ;  the  child,  if  it  lires,  has 
inough  to  bring  it  up  decently,  and  set  it  out  in  life,  and 

VOL.     II. 


42  CHRONICLES    OF 

I  can  teach  it  an  honourable  and  useful  profession.  It  will 
be  rather  an  amusement  than  a  trouble  to  me,  and  I  want 
to  make  some  remarks  on  the  childish  diseases  which,  with 
God's  blessing,  the  child  must  come  through  under  my 
charge  ;  and  since  Heaven  has  sent  us  no  children ' 

"  Hoot,  hoot  !"  said  the  Town-Clerk,  "  you  are  in 
ower  great  a  hurry  now — you  have  na  been  sae  lang  mar- 
ried yet. — Mrs.  Gray,  dinna  let  my  daffing  chase  y  ;u 
away — we  will  be  for  a  dish  of  tea  belive,  for  the  Doctor 
and  I  are  nae  glass-breakers." 

Four  years  after  this  conversation  took  place,  the  event 
hcippened,  at  the  possibility  of  which  the  Town-Clerk  had 
hinted  ;  and  Mrs.  Gray  presented  her  husband  with  an 
infant  daughter.  But  good  and  evil  are  strangely  mingled 
;n  this  sublunary  world.  The  fulfilment  of  his  anxious 
longing  for  posterity  was  attended  with  the  loss  of  his  sim- 
ple and  kind-hearted  wife  ;  one  of  the  most  heavy  blows 
which  fate  could  inflict  on  poor  Gideon,  and  his  house  was 
made  desolate  even  by  the  event  which  had  promised  for 
months  before  to  add  new  comforts  to  its  humble  roof. 
Gray  felt  the  shock  as  men  of  sense  and  firmness  feel  a 
decided  blow,  from  the  effects  of  which  they  never  hope 
again  fully  to  raise  themselves.  He  discharged  the  duties 
of  his  profession  with  the  same  punctuality  as  ever,  was 
easy,  and  even,  to  appearance,  cheerful  in  his  intercourse 
with  society  ;  but  the  sunshine  of  existence  was  gone. 
Every  morning  he  missed  the  affectionate  charges  which 
recommended  to  him  to  pay  attention  to  his  own  health, 
while  he  was  labouring  to  restore  that  blessing  to  his 
patients.  Every  evening,  as  he  returned  from  his  weary 
round,  it  was  without  the  consciousness  of  a  kind  and 
affectionate  reception  from  one  eager  to  tell,  and  inter- 
ested to  hear,  all  the  little  events  of  the  day.  His  whistle, 
which  used  to  arise  clear  and  strong  so  soon  as  Middlema? 
jteeple  was  in  view,  was  now  for  ever  silenced,  and  the 
rider's  head  drooped,  while  the  tired  horse,  lacking  the 
stimulus  of  his  master's  hand  and  voice,  seemed  to  shuffle 
along  as  if  it  experienced  a  share  of  his  despondency. 
There  were  times  when  he  was  so  much  dejected  as  to 


THE    CANONGATE.  9«» 

oe  unable  to  endure  even  the  presence  of  his  little  Menie. 
in  whose  infant  countenance  he  could  trace  the  lineaments 
of  the  mother,  of  whose  loss  she  had  been  the  innoeen' 
and  unconscious  cause.  "  Had  it  not  been  for  this  poor 
child" — he  would  think  ;  but,  instantly  aware  that  the 
sentiment  was  sinful,  he  would  snatch  the  infant  to  his 
breast,  and  load  it  with  caresses — then  hastily  desire  it  to 
be  removed  from  the  parlour. 

The  Mahometans  have  a  fanciful  idea,  that  the  true  be- 
liever, in  his  passage  to  paradise,  is  under  the  necessity 
of  passing  barefooted  over  a  bridge  composed  of  red-hot 
iron.  But  on  this  occasion,  all  the  pieces  of  paper  which 
the  Moslem  has  preserved  during  his  life,  lest  some  holy 
thing  being  written  upon  them  might  be  profaned,  arrange 
themselves  between  his  feet  and  the  burning  metal,  and 
so  save  him  from  injury.  In  the  same  manner,  the  effects 
of  kind  and  benevolent  actions  are  sometimes  found,  even 
in  this  world,  to  assuage  the  pangs  of  subsequent  afflic- 
tions. 

Thus,  the  greatest  consolation  which  poor  Gideon  could 
find  after  his  heavy  deprivation,  was  in  the  frolic  fondness 
of  Richard  Middlemas,  the  child  who  was  in  so  singular 
a  manner  thrown  upon  his  charge.  Even  at  this  early- 
age  he  was  eminently  handsome.  When  silent,  or  out  ol 
humour,  his  dark  eyes  and  striking  countenance  present- 
ed some  recollections  of  the  stern  character  imprinted  on 
the  features  of  his  supposed  father  ;  but  when  he  was  gay 
and  happy,  which  was  much  more  frequently  the  case, 
these  clouds  were  exchanged  for  the  most  frolicsome, 
mirthful  expression,  that  ever  dwelt  on  the  laughing  and 
thoughtless  aspect  of  a  child.  He  seemed  to  have  a  tact 
beyond  his  years  in  discovering  and  conforming  to  the 
peculiarities  of  human  character.  His  nurse,  one  prime 
object  of  Richard's  observance,  was  Nurse  Jamieson,  or 
ns  she  was  more  commonly  called  for  brevity,  and  par 
txccflence,  Nurse.  This  was  the  person  who  had  brought 
him  up  from  infancy.  She  had  lost  her  own  child,  and 
soon  after  her  husband,  and  being  thus  a  lone  woman,  had, 
a*  used  to  be  common  in  Scotland,  remained  a  member 


14  CHRONICLES    OF 

of  Dr.  Gray's  family.  After  the  death  of  his  wife,  she 
gradually  obtained  the  principal  superintendence  of  the 
whole  household  ;  and  being  an  honest  and  capable  man- 
ager, was  a  person  of  very  great  importance  in  the  family. 

She  was  bold  in  her  temper,  violent  in  her  feelings,  and, 
as  often  happens  with  those  in  her  condition,  was  as  much 
attached  to  Richard  IVJiddlemas,  whom  she  had  once 
nursed  at  her  bosom,  as  if  he  had  been  her  own  son. 
This  affection  the  child  repaid  by  all  the  tender  attentions 
of  which  his  age  was  capable. 

Little  Dick  was  also  distinguished  by  the  fondest  and 
kindest  attachment  to  his  guardian  and  benefactor,  Dr. 
Gray.  He  was  officious  in  tne  right  time  a"d  place,  quiet 
as  a  lamb  when  his  patron  seemed  inclined  to  study  or 
to  muse,  active  and  assiduous  to  assist  or  divert  hi.T!  when- 
ever it  seemed  to  be  wished,  and,  in  choosing  his  oppor- 
tunities, he  seemed  to  display  an  address  far  beyond  his 
childish  years. 

As  time  passed  on,  this  pleasing  character  seemed  to 
be  still  more  refined.  In  every  thing  liice  exercise  or 
amusement,  he  was  the  pride  and  the  leader  of  the  boys 
of  the  place,  over  the  most  of  whom  his  strength  and  ac- 
tivity gave  him  a  decided  superiority.  At  school  his  abil- 
ities were  less  distinguished,  yet  he  was  a  favourite  with 
the  master,  a  sensible  and  useful  teacher. 

"  Richard  is  not  swift,"  he  used  to  say  to  his  patron, 
Dr.  Gray,  "  but  then  he  is  sure  ;  and  it  is  impossible  not 
to  be  pleased  with  a  child  who  is  so  very  desirous  to  give 
satisfaction." 

Young  Middlemas's  grateful  affection  to  his  patron 
seemed  to  increase  with  the  expanding  of  his  faculties, 
and  found  a  natural  and  pleasing  mode  of  displaying  itself 
in  his  attentions  to  little  Menie°Grfiy.  Her  slightest  hint 
was  Richard's  law,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  he  was  sum- 
moned forth  by  a  hundred  shrill  voices  to  take  the  lead  in 
hye-spye,  or  at  foot-ball,  if  it  was  little  Alcnie's  pleasure 
tHat  he  should  remain  within,  and  build  card-houses  for 
her  amusement.  At  other  times,  he  would  take  the  charge 
of  the  little  damse'  entirely  under  his  own  care,  and  be 


THE    CAXONGATE.  45 

seen  wandering  with  her  on  the  borough  common,  collect- 
ing wild-flowers,  or  knitting  caps  made  of  bulrushes 
Menie  was  attached  to  Dick  Middlemas,  in  proportion  to 
his  affectionate  assiduities  ;  and  the  father  saw  with  pleas- 
ure every  new  mark  of  attention  to  his  child  on  the  part 
of  his  protege. 

During  the  time  that  Richard  was  silently  advancing 
from  a  beautiful  child  into  a  fine  boy,  and  approaching 
from  a  fine  boy  to  the  time  when  he  must  be  termed  a 
handsome  youth,  Mr.  Gray  wrote  twice  a-year  with  much 
regularity  to  Mr.  Mon^ada,  through  the  channel  that  gen- 
tleman had  pointed  out.  The  benevolent  man  thought, 
that  if  the  wealthy  grandfather  could  only  see  his  relative, 
of  whom  any  family  might  be  proud,  he  would  be  unable 
to  persevere  in  his  resolution  of  treating  as  an  outcast  one 
so  nearly  connected  with  him  in  blood,  and  so  interesting 
in  person  and  disposition.  He  thought  it  his  duty,  there- 
fore, to  keep  open  the  slender  and  oblique  communica- 
tion with  the  boy's  maternal  grandfather,  as  that  which 
•night,  at  some  future  period,  lead  to  a  closer  connex- 
ion. Yet  the  correspondence  could  not,  in  other  respects, 
be  agreeable  to  a  man  of  spirit  like  Mr.  Gray.  His  own 
letters  were  as  short  as  possible,  merely  rendering  an  ac- 
count of  his  ward's  expenses,  including  a  moderate  board 
to  himself,  attested  by  Mr.  Lawford,  his  co-trustee  ;  and 
intimating  Richard's  state  of  health,  and  his  progress  i/i 
education,  with  a  lew  words  of  brief  but  warm  eulogy 
upon  his  goodness  of  head  and  heart.  But  the  answers 
he  received  were  still  shorter.  "  Mr.  Mdncada,"  such 
was  tlr-ir  usual  tenor,  "  acknowledges  Mr.  Gray's  letter 
of  such  a  date,  notices  the  contents,  and  requests  Mr. 
Gray  to  persist  in  the  plan  which  he  has  hitherto  prose- 
cuted on  the  subject  of  their  correspondence."  On  oc- 
casions where  extraordinary  expense  seemed  likely  to  be 
incurred,  the  remittances  were  made  with  readiness. 

That  day  fortnight  after  Mrs.  Gray's  death,  fifty  pounds 
were  received,  with  a  note,  intimating  that  it  was  designe 
to  put  the  child  R.  M.  into  proper  mourning.      The  write 
had  added  two  or  three  words,  desiring  that  the  surplus 


46 


CHRONICLES    OF 


should  be  at  Mr.  Gray's  disposal,  to  meet  the  additional 
expenses  of  this  period  of  calamity  ;  but  Mr.  Mon^ada 
nad  left  the  phrase  unfinished,  apparently  in  despair  of 
turning  it  suitably  into  English.  Gideon,  without  far- 
ther investigation,  quietly  added  the  sum  to  the  account  of 
his  ward's  little  fortune,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  Mr. 
Lawford,  who,  aware  that  he  was  rather  a  loser  than  a 
gainer  by  the  boy's  residence  in  his  house,  was  desirous 
that  his  friend  should  not  omit  an  opportunity  of  recover- 
ing some  part  of  his  expenses  on  that  score.  But  Gray 
was  proof  against  all  remonstrance. 

As  the  boy  advanced  towards  his  fourteenth  year,  Dr. 
Gray  wrote  a  more  elaborate  account  of  his  ward's  char- 
acter, acquirements,  and  capacity.  He  added  that  he 
did  this  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  Mr.  Mon^ada  to  judge 
how  the  young  man's  future  education  should  be  directed. 
Richard,  he  observed,  was  arrived  at  the  point  where  ed- 
ucation, losing  its  original  and  general  character,  branches 
off  into  different  paths  of  knowledge,  suitable  to  particu- 
lar professions,  and  when  it  was  therefore  become  neces- 
sary to  determine  which  of  them  it  was  his  pleasure  that 
young  Richard  should  be  trained  for  ;  and  he  would,  on 
his  part,  do  all  he  could  to  carry  Mr.  Mon^ada's  wishes 
into  execution,  since  the  amiable  qualities  of  the  boy  made 
him  as  dear  to  him,  though  but  a  guardian,  as  he  could 
have  been  to  his  own  father. 

The  answer,  which  arrived  in  the  course  of  a  week  or 
ten  days,  was  fuller  than  usual,  and  written  in  the  first 
person. — "  Mr.  Gray,"  such  was  the  tenor,  "  our  meeting 
has  been  under  such  circumstances  as  could  not  make  us 
favourably  known  to  each  other  at  the  time.  But  I  have 
the  advantage  of  you,  since,  knowing  your  motives  for 
entertaining  an  indifferent  opinion  of  me,  I  could  respect 
jhem,  and  you  at  the  same  time  ;  whereas  you,  unable  to 
comprehend  the  motives — 1  say,  you,  being  unacquainted 
with  the  infamous  treatment  I  had  received,  could  not  un- 
derstand he  reasons  that  1  have  for  acting  as  I  have  done. 
Deprived,  sir,  by  the  act  of  a  villain,  of  my  child,  and  she 
despoile  1  of  honour,  (""cannot  bring  myself  to  think  of 


THE    CANONGATE.  47 

neholding  the  creature,  however  innocent,  whose  look 
must  always  remind  me  of  hatred  and  of  shame.  Keep 
the  poor  child  by  you — educate  him  to  your  own  profes- 
sion, but  take  heed  that  he  looks  no  higher  than  to  fill 
such  a  situation  in  life  as  you  yourself  worthily  occupy,  or 
some  other  line  of  like  importance.  For  the  condition  of 
a  farmer,  a  country  lawyer,  a  medical  practitioner,  or  some 
such  retired  course  of  life,  the  means  of  outfit  and  educa- 
tion shall  be  amply  supplied.  But  I  must  warn  him  and 
you,  that  any  attempt  to  intrude  himself  on  me  further  than 
I  may  especially  permit,  will  be  attended  with  the  total 
forfeiture  of  my  favour  and  protection.  So,  having  made 
known  my  mind  to  you,  I  expect  you  will  act  accordingly." 
The  receipt  of  this  letter  determined  Gideon  to  have  some 
explanation  with  the  boy  himself,  in  order  to  learn  if  he 
had  any  choice  among  the  professions  thus  opened  to  him  ; 
convinced,  at  the  same  time,  from  his  docility  of  temper, 
that  he  would  refer  the  selection  to  his  (Dr.  Gray's)  bet- 
ter judgment. 

He  had  previously,  however,  the  unpleasing  task  of  ac- 
quainting Richard  iVliddlemas  with  the  mysterious  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  birth,  of  which  he  presumed  him 
to  be  entirely  ignorant,  simply  because  he  himself  had 
never  communicated  them,  but  had  let  the  boy  consider 
himself  as  the  orphan  child  of  a  distant  relation.  But 
though  the  Doctor  himself  was  silent,  he  might  have  re- 
membered that  Nurse  Jamieson  had  the  handsome  enjoy- 
ment of  her  tongue,  and  was  disposed  to  use  it  liberally. 

From  a  very  early  period,  Nurse  Jamieson,  amongst 
the  variety  of  legendary  lore  which  she  instilled  into  her 
foster  son,  had  not  forgotten  what  she  called  the  awful 
season  of  his  coming  into  the  world — the  personable  ap- 
pearance of  his  father,  a  grand  gentleman,  who  looked  as 
if  the  whole  world  lay  at  his  feet — the  beauty  of  his  moth- 
er, and  the  terrible  blackness  of  the  mask  which  she  wore 
her  een  that  glanced  like  diamonds,  and  the  diamonds  she 
wore  on  her  fingers,  that  could  be  compared  to  nothing 
but  her  own  een,  the  fairness  of  her  skin,  and  the  colour 
of  hsr  silk  rokelay,  with  much  proper  stuff  to  the  same 


48  CHRONICLES    OF 

purpose.  Then  she  expatiated  on  the  arrival  of  his  grand- 
father, and  the  awful  man,  armed  •with  pistol,  dirk,  and 
claymore,  (the  last  weapons  existed  only  in  Nurse's  imag- 
ination,) the  very  Ogre  of  a  fairy  tale— then  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  carrying  off  his  mother,  while  bank- 
notes were  flying  about  the  house  like  screeds  of  brown 
paper,  and  gold  guineas  were  as  plenty  as  chuckie-stanes. 
All  this,  partly  to  please  and  interest  the  boy,  partly  to 
indulge  her  own  talent  for  amplification,  Nurse  told  with 
so  many  additional  circumstances,  and  gratuitous  com- 
mentaries, that  the  real  transaction,  mysterious  and  odd 
as  it  certainly  was,  sunk  into  tameness  before  the  Nurse's 
edition,  like  humble  prose  contrasted  with  the  boldest 
flights  of  poetry. 

To  hear  all  this  did  Richard  seriously  incline,  and  still 
more  was  he  interested  with  the  idea  of  his  valiant  father 
coming  for  him  unexpectedly  at  the  head  of  a  gallant  reg- 
iment, with  music  playing  and  colours  flying,  and  carrying 
his  son  away  on  the  most  beautiful  pony  eyes  ever  beheld  : 
Or  his  mother,  bright  as  the  day,  might  suddenly  appear 
in  her  coach-and-six,  to  reclaim  her  beloved  child  ;  or 
his  repentant  grandfather,  with  his  pockets  stuffed  out  with 
bank-notes,  would  come  to  atone  for  his  past  cruelty,  by 
heaping  his  neglected  grandchild  with  unexpected  wealth. 
Sure  was  Nurse  Jamieson,  "  that  it  wanted  but  a  blink  of 
her  bairn's  bonny  ee  to  turn  their  hearts,  as  Scripture 
sayeth  ;  and  as  strange  things  had  been,  as  they  should 
come  a'thegither  to  the  town  at  the  same  time,  and  make 
such  a  day  as  had  never  been  seen  in  Middlemas  ;  and 
then  her  bairn  would  never  be  called  by  that  lowland  name 
of  Middlemas  any  more,  which  sounded  as  if  it  had  been 
gathered  out  of  the  town  gutter  ;  but  would  be  called 
Galatian6,  or  Sir  William  Wallace,  or  Robin  Hood,  or  after 
some  other  of  the  great  princes  named  in  story-books." 

Nurse  Jamieson's  history  of  the  past,  and  prospects  of 
the  future  were  too  flattering  not  to  excite  the  most  am- 
bitious visions  in  the  mind  of  a  boy,  who  naturally  felt  a 
strong  desire  of  rising  in  the  world,  and  was  conscious  jf 
possessing  the  powers  necessary  to  his  advancement. 
.The  inciderts  of  his  birth  resembled  those  he  found  com- 


THE    CAltOKGATE.  49 

Hic-morated  in  the  tales  which  he  read  or  listened  to  ;  anu 
there  seemed  no  reason  why  his  own  adventures  should  not 
have  a  termination  corresponding  to  those  of  such  vera- 
cious histories.  In  a  \vord,  while  good  Doctor  Gray  im- 
agined that  his  pupil  was  dwelling  in  utter  ignorance  of  his 
origin,  Richard  was  meditating  upon  nothing  else  than  the 
time  and  means  by  which  he  anticipated  his  being  extri- 
cated from  the  obscurity  of  his  present  condition,  and 
enabled  to  assume  the  rank  to  which,  in  his  own  opinion 
he  was  entitled  by  birth. 

So  stood  the  feelings  of  the  young  man,  when,  one  day 
after  dinner,  the  Doctor  snuffing  the  candle,  and  taking 
from  his  pouch  the  great  leathern  pocket-book  in  which 
he  deposited  particular  papers,  with  a  small  supply  of  the 
most  necessary  and  active  medicines,  lie  took  from  it  Mr. 
Moncjada's  letter,  and  requested  Richard  Middleman's 
serious  attention,  while  he  told  him  so.me  circumstances 
concerning  himself,  which  it  greatly  imported  him  to  know 
Richard's  dark  eyes  flashed  fire — the  blood  flushed  his 
broad  and  well-formed  forehead — the  hour  of  explanation 
was  at  length  come.  He  listened  to  the  narrative  of  Gid- 
eon Gray,  which,  the  reader  may  believe,  being  altogether 
divested  of  the  gilding  which  Nurse  Jamieson's  imagina- 
tion had  bestowed  upon  it,  and  reduced  to  what  mercan- 
tile men  termed  the  needful,  exhibited  little  more  than  the 
tale  of  a  child  of  shame,  deserted  by  its  father  and  moth- 
er, and  brought  up  on  the  reluctant  charity  of  a  more 
distant  relation,  who  regarded  him  as  the  living  though 
unconscious  evidence  of  the  disgrace  of  his  family,  and 
would  more  willingly  have  paid  for  the  expenses  of  his 
funeral,  than  that  of  the  food  which  was  grudgingly  pro- 
vided for  him.  "  Temple  and  tower,"  a  hundred  flatter- 
ing edifices  of  Richard's  childish  imagination,  went  to 
the  ground  at  once,  and  the  pain  which  attended  their  de- 
molition was  rendered  the  more  acute,  by  a  sense  of  shame 
that  he  should  have  nursed  such  reveries.  He  remained, 
while  Gideon  continued  his  explanation,  in  a  dejected 
posture,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  the  veins  of  his 
forehead  swoln  with  contending  passions. 

VOL.    II- 


50 


CHRONICLES    OF 


u  And  now,  my  dear  Richard,"  said  the  good  surg  ;on 
"  you  must  think  what  you  can  do  for  yourself,  since  v'oui 
grandfather  leaves  you  the  choice  of  three  honourable 
prolessions,  by  any  of  which,  well  and  wisely  prosecuted, 
you  may  become  independent  if  not  wealthy,  and  respect- 
able if  not  great.  You  will  naturally  desire  a  little  time 
for  consideration." 

"  Not  a  minute,"  said  the  boy,  raising  his  head,  and 
ooking  boldly  at  his  guardian.  "  I  am  a  free-born  Eng- 
lishman, and  will  return  to  England  if  I  think  fit." 

"  A  free-born  fool  you  are — "  said  Gray  ;  "  you  were 
born,  as  I  think,  no  one  can  know  better  than  I  do,  in  the 
blue  room  of  Stevenlaw's  Land,  in  the  Town-head  ofMid- 
dlemas,  if  you  call  that  being  a  free-born  Englishman." 

"  But  Tom  Hillary," — this  was  an  apprentice  of  Clerk 
Lawford,  who  had  of  late  been  a  great  friend  and  adviser 
of  young  Middlemas — "  Tom  Hillary  says  that  I  am  a 
free-born  Englishman,  notwithstanding,  in  right  of  my 
parents." 

"  Pooh,  child  !  what  do  we  know  of  your  parents  ? — 
But  what  has  your  being  an  Englishman  to  do  with  the 
present  question  ?" 

"  Oh  Doctor  !"  answered  the  boy,  bitterly,  "  you  know 
we  from  the  south  side  of  Tweed  cannot  scramble  so 
hard  as  you  do.  The  Scots  are  too  moral,  and  too  pru- 
dent, and  too  robust,  for  a  poor  pudding-eater  to  live 
amongst  them,  whether  as  a  parson,  or  as  a  lawyer,  or  as 
a  doctor — with  your  pardon  sir." 

"  Upon  my  life,  Dick,"  said  Gray,  "  this  Tom  Hillary 
will  turn  your  brain.  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  trash  ?" 

"  Tom  Hillary  says  that  the  parson  lives  by  the  sins  ol 
the  people,  the  lawyer  by  their  distresses,  and  the  doctor 
by  their  diseases — always  asking  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  Tom  Hillary,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  should  be  drum- 
med out  of  the  borough.  A  whipper-snapper  of  an  at 
torney's  apprentice,  run  away  from  Newcastle  !  If  I  hear 
him  talking  so,  I'll  teach  him  to  speak  with  more  reverence 
of  the  learned  professions.  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  Torn 
Hillary,  whom  you  have  seen  far  too  much  of  lately- 


THE    CANONGATIi.  51 

Think  a  little,  like  a  lad  of  sense,  and  tell  me  what  answe. 
I  am  to  give  Mr.  Mon^ada." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  the  boy,  the  tone  of  affected  sarcasm 
laid  aside,  and  that  of  injured  pride  substituted  in  its  room. 
"  tell  him,  that  my  soul  revolts  at  the  obscure  lot  he  re- 
commends to  me.  1  am  determined  to  enter  my  father's 
profession,  the  army,  unless  my  grandfather  chooses  U 
receive  me  into  his  house,  and  place  rne  in  his  own  line 
of  business." 

"  Yes,  and  make  you  his  partner,  I  suppose,  and  ac- 
knowledge you  for  his  heir  ?  "  said  Dr.  Gray ;  "  a  thing 
extremely  likely  to  happen,  no  doubt,  considering  the  way 
in  which  he  has  brought  you  up  all  along,  and  the  terms 
in  which  he  now  writes  concerning  you." 

"  Then,  sir,  there  is  one  thing  which  1  can  demand  oi 
you,"  replied  the  boy.  "  There  is  a  large  sum  of  money 
in  your  hands  belonging  to  me  ;  and  since  it  is  consigned 
to  you  for  my  use,  I  demand  you  should  make  the  neces- 
sary advances  to  procure  a  commission  in  the  army — ac- 
count to  me  for  the  balance — and  so,  with  thanks  for  past 
favours,  I  will  give  you  no  trouble  in  future." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  Doctor,  gravely,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  to  see  that  your  usual  prudence  and  good  humour 
are  not  proof  against  the  disappointment  of  some  idle  ex- 
pectations which  you  had  not  the  slightest  reason  to  en- 
tertain. It  is  very  true  that  there  is  a  sum,  which,  in  spite 
of  various  expenses,  may  still  approach  to  a  thousand 
pounds  or  better,  which  remains  in  my  hands  for  your  be- 
hoof. But  I  am  bound  to  dispose  of  it  according  to  the 
will  of  the  donor,  and  at  any  rate;  you  are  not  entitled  to 
call  for  it  until  you  come  to  years  of  discretion  ;  a  period 
from  which  you  are  six  years  distant  according  to  law,  and 
which,  in  one  sense,  you  will  nevor  reach  at  all,  unless 
you  alter  your  present  unreasonable  crotchets.  I  Jut 
come,  Dick,  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  you  in  so 
absurd  a  humour,  and  you  have  many  things,  I  own,  in 
your  situation,  to  apologize  for  impatience  even  greater 
than  you  have  displayed.  But  you  should  not  turn  your 
resentment  on  me,  that  am  no  way  in  fault.  You  should 


52  CHRONICLES   OF 

remember,  that  I  was  your  earliest  and  only  friend,  and 
iook  charge  of  you  when  every  other  person  forsook  you." 

"  I  do  not  thank  you  for  it,"  said  Richard,  giving  way 
to  a  burst  of  uncontrolled  passion.  "You  might  have 
done  better  for  me  had  you  pleased." 

"And  in  what  manner,  you  ungrateful  boy?"  said 
Gray,  whose  composure  was  a  little  ruffled. 

"  You  might  have  flung  me  under  the  wheels  of  their 
carriages  as  they  drove  off.  and  have  let  them  trample  on 
the  body  of  their  child,  as  they  have  done  on  his  feelings." 

So  saying,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him  with  great  violence,  leaving  his  guardian 
astonished  at  his  sudden  and  violent  change  of  temper 
and  manner. 

"  What  the  deuce  can  have  possessed  him  ? — Ah. 
well.  High-spirited,  and  disappointed  in  some  follies 
which  that  Tom  Hillary  has  put  into  his  head — But  his 
is  a  case  for  anodynes,  and  shall  be  treated  accordingly." 

While  the  Doctor  formed  this  good-natured  resolution, 
young  Middlemas  rushed  to  Nurse  Jamieson's  apartment, 
where  poor  Menie,  to  whom  his  presence  always  gave 
holiday  feelings,  hastened  to  exhibit,  for  his  admiration,  a 
new  doll,  of  which  she  had  made  the  acquisition.  No 
one,  generally,  was  more  interested  in  Menie's  amuse- 
ments than  Richard  ;  but  at  present,  Richard,  like  his 
celebrated  namesake,  was  not  i'  the  vein.  He  threw  off 
the  little  damsel  so  carelessly,  almost  so  rudely,  that  the 
doll  flew  out  of  Menie's  hand,  fell  on  the  hearth-stone, 
and  broke  its  waxen  face.  The  rudeness  drew  from 
Nurse  Jamieson  a  rebuke,  even  although  the  culprit  was 
her  darling. 

"  Hout  awa',  Richard — that  wasna  like  yoursell,  to 
guide  Miss  Menie  that  gate. — Haud  your  tongue,  Miss 
Menie,  and  I'll  soon  mend  the  baby's  face." 

lint  if  Menie  cried,  she  did  not  cry  for  the  doll ;  and 
while  the  tears  flowed  silently  down  her  cheeks,  she  sat 
looking  at  Dick  Middlemas  with  a  childish  face  of  fear 
Borrow,  and  wonder.  Nurse  Jamieson  was  soon  diverted 
fro..i  her  attention  to  Menie  Gray's  distresses,  especially 


TUE    CANONGATE.  53 

as  she  did  not  weep  aloud,  and  her  attention  became  fix- 
ed on  the  altered  countenance,  red  eyes,  and  swoln  fea- 
tures, of  her  darling  foster-child.  She  instantly  com- 
menced an  investigation  into  the  cause  of  his  distress,  after 
the  usual  inquisitorial  manner  of  matrons  of  her  class. 
"  What  is  the  matter  wi'  my  bairn  "?"  and  "  VVha  has 
been  vexing  my  bairn  ?"  with  similar  questions,  at  last 
extorted  this  reply  : 

"  I  am  not  your  bairn — I  am  no  one's  bairn — no  one's 
son.  1  am  an  outcast  from  my  family,  and  belong  to  no 
one.  Dr.  Gray  has  told  me  so  himself." 

"  And  did  he  cast  up  to  my  bairn  that  he  was  a  bas- 
tard ? — troth  he  was  na  blate — my  certie,  your  father  was 
a  better  man  than  ever  stood  on  the  Doctor's  shanks — a 
handsome  grand  gentleman,  with  an  ee  like  a  gled's,  and 
a  step  like  a  Highland  piper." 

Nurse  Jamieson  had  got  on  a  favourite  topic,  and  would 
have  expatiated  long  enough,  for  she  was  a  professed  ad- 
mirer of  masculine  beauty,  but  there  was  something  which 
displeased  the  boy  in  her  last  simile  ;  so  he  cut  the  con- 
versation short,  by  asking  whether  she  knew  exactly  how 
much  money  his  grandfather  had  left  with  Dr.  Gray  for 
his  maintenance.  "  She  could  not  say — dinna  ken — an 
awfu'  sum  it  was  to  pass  out  of  ae  man's  hand — she  was 
sure  it  wasna  less  than  ae  hundred  pounds,  and  it  might 
vveel  be  twa."  In  short,  she  knew  nothing  about  the 
matter  ;  but  "  she  was  sure  Doctor  Gray  would  count  to 
him  to  the  last  farthing  ;  for  every  body  kend  that  he  was 
a  just  man  where  siller  was  concerned.  However,  if  her 
bairn  wanted  to  ken  mair  about  it,  to  be  sure  the  Town- 
clerk  could  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Richard  JVliddlemas  arose  and  left  the  apartment,  with- 
out saying  more.  He  went  immediately  to  visit  the  old 
Town-clerk,  to  whom  he  had  made  himself  acceptable, 
is,  indeed,  he  had  done  to  most  of  the  dignitaries  about 
the  burgh.  He  introduced  the  conversation  by  the  pro- 
posal which  had  been  made  to  him  for  choosing  a  profes- 
tion,  and  after  speaking  of  the  mysterious  circumstances 
541 


04  CHRONICLES    OF 

of  his  birth,  and  the  doubtful  prospects  which  lay  before 
him,  he  easily  led  the  Town-clerk  into  conversation  as  to 
the  amount  of  the  funds,  and  heard  the  exact  state  of  tin; 
money  in  his  guardian's  hands,  which  corresponded  with 
the  information  he  had  already  received.  He  next  sound- 
ed the  worthy  scribe  on  the  possibility  of  his  going  into  the 
army  ;  but  received  a  second  confirmation  of  the  intelli- 
gence Mr.  Gray  had  given  him  ;  being  informed  that  no 
part  of  the  money  could  be  placed  at  his  disposal  till  he 
was  of  age  ;  and  then  not  without  the  especial  consent  of 
both  his  guardians,  and  particularly  that  of  his  master.  He 
therefore  took  leave  of  the  Town-clerk,  who,  much  ap- 
proving the  cautious  manner  in  which  he  spoke,  and  his 
prudent  selection  of  an  adviser  at  this  important  crisis  of 
his  life,  intimated  to  him,  that  should  he  choose  the  law, 
he  would  himself  receive  him  into  his  office,  upon  a  very 
moderate  apprentice-fee,  and  would  part  with  Tom  Hil- 
lary to  make  room  for  him,  as  the  lad  was  "  rather  prag- 
matical, and  plagued  him  with  speaking  about  his  English 
practice,  which  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  on  this  side 
of  the  Border — the  Lord  be  thanked  !" 

Middlemas  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  promised 
to  consider  his  kind  offer,  in  case  he  should  determine 
upon  following  the  profession  of  the  law. 

From  Tom  Hillary's  master  Richard  went  to  Torn 
Hillary  himself,  who  chanced  then  to  be  in  the  office. 
He  was  a  lad  about  twenty,  as  smart  as  small,  but  distin- 
guished for  the  accuracy  with  which  he  dressed  his  hair, 
and  the  splendour,  of  a  laced  hat  and  embroidered  waist- 
coat, with  which  he  graced  the  church  of  IVliddlemas  on 
Sundays.  Tom  Hillary  had  been  bred  an  attorney's 
rlerk  in  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  but,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  had  found  it  more  convenient  of  late  years  to  reside 
in  Scotland,  and  was  recommended  to  the  Town-clerk  of 
Middlemas,  by  the  accuracy  and  beauty  with  which  ha 
transcribed  the  records  of  the  burgh.  It  is  not  improba- 
ble that  the  reports  concerning  the  singular  circumstance? 
of  Richard  Middlemas's  birth,  and  the  knowledge  that 
he  was  actually  possessed  of  a  considerable  ?um  of 


THE    CAAOAGATE. 

money,  induced  Hillary,  though  so  much  his  senior,  tc 
admit  the  lad  to  his  company,  and  enrich  his  youthful  mind 
with  some  branches  of  information,  which,  in  that  retired 
corner,  his  pupil  might  otherwise  have  been  some  time  in 
attaining.  Amongst  these  were  certain  games  at  cards 
and  dice,  in  which  the  pupil  paid,  as  was  reasonable,  the 
price  of  initiation  by  his  losses  to  his  instructor.  After  a 
long  walk  with  this  youngster,  whose  advice,  like  the  un- 
wise son  of  the  wisest  of  men,  he  probably  valued  more 
than  that  of  his  more  aged  counsellors,  Richard  JVliddle- 
mas  returned  to  his  lodgings  in  Stevenlaw's  Land,  and 
went  to  bed  sad  and  supperless. 

The  next  morning  Richard  arose  with  the  sun,  and  his 
night's  rest  appeared  to  have  had  its  frequent  effect,  in 
cooling  the  passions  and  correcting  the  understanding. 
Little  Menie  was  the  first  person  to  whom  he  made  the 
amende  honorable  ;  and  a  much  smaller  propitiation  than 
the  new  doll  with  which  he  presented  her,  would  have  been 
accepted  as  an  atonement  for  a  much  greater  offence. 
Menie  was  one  of  those  pure  spirits,  to  whom  a  state  ol 
unkindness,  if  the  estranged  person  has  been  a  friend,  is 
a  state  of  pain,  and  the  slightest  advance  of  her  friend 
and  protector  was  sufficient  to  regain  all  her  childish  con- 
fidence and  affection. 

The  father  did  not  prove  more  inexorable  than  Menie 
had  done.  Mr.  Gray,  indeed,  thought  he  had  good  reason 
to  look  cold  upon  Richard  at  their  next  meeting,  being  not 
a  little  hurt  at  the  ungrateful  treatment  which  he  had  re- 
ceived on  the  preceding  evening.  But  Middlemas  disarm- 
ed him  at  once,  by  frankly  pleading  that  he  had  suffered 
his  mind  to  be  carried  away  by  the  supposed  rank  and  im- 
portance of  his  parents,  into  an  idle  conviction  that  he  was 
one  clay  to  share  them.  The  letter  of  his  grandrither, 
which  condemned  him  to  banishment  andobscuritj  /'or  life, 
tvas,  he  acknowledged,  a  very  severe  blow  ;  and  it  was  with 
Jeep  sorrow  that  he  reflected,  that  the  irritation  ol  his  dis- 
appointment had  led  him  to  express  himself  in  a  i/ianner 
far  short  of  the  respect  and  reverence  of  one  who  owed  Mr 
Gray  the  duty  and  affection  of  a  son,  and  ought  to  refer  to 
h's  decision  every  action  of  his  life.  Gideon,  propitiated 


CHRONICLES    OF 

by  an  admission  so  candid,  and  made  with  so  much  hu- 
mility, readily  dismissed  his  resentment,  and  kindly  in- 
quired of  Richard,  whether  he  had  bestowed  any  reflec- 
tion upon  the  choice  of  profession  which  had  been  sub- 
jected to  him  ;  offering,  at  the  same  time,  to  allow  him 
all  reasonable  time  to  make  up  his  mind. 

On  this  subject  Richard  Middlemas  answered  with  the 
same  promptitude  and  candour. — "  He  had,"  he  said, 
"  in  order  to  forming  his  opinion  more  safely,  consulted 
with  his  friend  the  Town-clerk."  The  Doctor  nodded 
approbation.  "  Mr.  Lawford  had,  indeed,  been  most 
friendly,  and  had  even  offered  to  take  him  into  his  own 
office.  But  if  his  father  and  benefactor  would  permit 
him  to  study,  under  his  instructions,  the  noble  art  in 
which  he  himself  enjoyed  such  a  deserved  reputation,  the 
mere  hope  that  he  might  by-and-by  be  of  some  use  to 
Mr.  Gray  in  his  business,  would  greatly  overbalance  every 
other  consideration.  Such  a  course  of  education,  and 
such  a  use  of  professional  knowledge  when  he  had  ac- 
quired it,  would  bs  a  greater  spur  to  his  industry,  than 
the  prospect  even  of  becoming  Town-clerk  of  Middlemas 
in  his  proper  person.." 

As  the  young  man  expressed  it  to  be  his  firm  and  un- 
alterable choice,  to  study  medicine  under  his  guardian, 
and  to  remain  a  member  of  his  family,  Dr.  Gray  inform- 
ed Mr.  Mon^ada  of  the  lad's  determination  ;  who,  to 
testify  his  approbation,  remitted  to  the  Doctor  the  sum  of 
£100  as  apprentice  fee,  a  sum  nearly  three  times  as  much 
as  Gray's  modesty  had  hinted  at  as  necessary. 

Shortly  after,  when  Dr.  Gray  and  the  Town-clerk  met 
at  the  small  club  of  the  burgh,  their  joint  theme  was  the 
sense  and  steadiness  of  Richard  Middlemas. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Town-clerk,  "  he  is  such  a  friend- 
.y  and  disinterested  boy,  that  I  could  not  get  him  to  accept 
a  place  in  my  office,  for  fear  he  should  be  thought  to  be 
pushing  himself  forward  at  the  expense  of  Tarn  Hillarj  " 

'  And,  indeed,  Clerk,"  said  Gray,  "  1  have  sometimes 
oeen   afraid  that  he  kept  too  much  company  with  that 


THE    C  A  KONG  ATE. 


Tain  Hillary  of  yours  ;  but  twenty  Tam  Hillarys  woula 
not  corrupt  Dick  Middlemas." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Dick  was  come  to  high  renown 

Since  he  commenced  physician  ; 
Tom  was  held  by  all  the  town 

The  belter  politician. 

Tam  and  Dick. 

AT  the  same  period  when  Dr.  Gray  took  under  his 
charge  his  youthful  lodger  Richard  Middlemas,  he  re- 
ceived proposals  from  the  friends  of  one  Adam  Hartley, 
to  receive  him  also  as  an  apprentice.  The  lad  was  the 
son  of  a  respectable  farmer  on  the  English  side  of  the 
Border,  who,  educating  his  eldest  son  to  his  own  occu- 
pation, desired  to  make  his  second  a  medical  man,  in 
order  to  avail  himself  of  the  friendship  of  a  great  man, 
his  landlord,  who  had  offered  to  assist  his  views  in  life, 
and  represented  a  doctor  or  surgeon  as  the  sort  of  person 
to  whose  advantage  his  interest  could  be  most  readily 
applied.  Middlemas  and  Hartley  were  therefore  associa- 
ted in  their  studies.  In  winter  they  were  boarded  in 
Edinburgh,  for  attending  the  medical  classes  which  were 
necessary  for  taking  their  degree.  Three  or  four  years 
thus  passed  on,  and,  from  being  mere  boys,  the  two  med- 
ical aspirants  shot  up  into  young  men,  who,  being  both 
very  good-looking,  well  dressed,  well  bred,  and  having 
money  in  their  pockets,  became  personages  of  some  im- 
portance in  the  little  town  of  Middlemas,  where  there  wag 
scarce  anything  that  could  be  termed  an  aristocracy,  and 
in  \vhi"h  beaux  were  scarce  and  belles  were  plenty. 

Each  of  the  two  had  his  especial  partizans  ;  for  though 
the  young  men  themselves  lived  in  tolerable  harmony  to- 
gether, yet,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  no  one  could  approve 


CHRONICLES    OF 


of  one  of  them,  without  at  the  same  time  comparing  him 
with,  and  asserting  his  superiority  over  his  companion. 

Both  were  gay,  fond  of  dancing,  and  sedulous  attend- 
ants on  the  practeezings,  as  he  called  them,  of  Mr 
M'Fittoch,  a  dancing-master,  who,  itinerant  during  the 
summer,  became  stationary  in  the  winter  season,  and 
afforded  the  youth  of  Middlemas  the  benefit  of  his 
instructions  at  the  rate  of  twenty  lessons  for  five  shil- 
lings sterling.  On  these  occasions,  each  of  Dr.  Gray's 
pupils  had  his  appropriate  praise.  Hartley  danced 
with  most  spirit  —  Middlemas  with  a  better  grace.  Mr. 
M'Fittoch  would  have  turned  out  Richard  against  the 
country-side  in  the  minuet,  and  wagered  the  thing  dearest 
to  him  in  the  world,  (and  that  was  his  kit,)  upon  his  as- 
sured superiority  ;  but  he  admitted  Hartley  was  superior 
to  him  in  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels. 

In  dress,  Hartley  was  most  expensive,  perhaps  because 
his  father  afforded  him  better  means  of  being  so;  but  his 
clothes  were  neither  so  tasteful  when  new,  nor  so  well 
preserved  when  they  began  to  grow  old,  as  those  of 
Richard  Middlemas.  Adam  Hartley  was  sometimes  fine, 
at  other  times  rather  slovenly,  and  on  the  former  occa- 
sions looked  rather  too  conscious  of  his  splendour.  His 
chum  was  at  all  times  regularly  neat  and  well-dressed  ; 
while  at  the  same  time  he  had  an  air  of  good-breeding, 
which  made  him  appear  always  at  ease  ;  so  that  his  dress, 
whatever  it  was,  seemed  to  be  just  what  he  ought  to  have 
worn  at  the  time. 

In  their  persons  there  was  a  still  more  strongly  marked 
distinction.  Adam  Hartley  was  full  middle  size,  stout, 
and  well  limbed  ;  and  an  open  English  countenance,  ot 
the  genuine  Saxon  mould,  showed  itself  among  chestnut 
locks,  until  the  hair-dresser  destroyed  them.  He  loved 
the  rough  exercises  of  wrestling,  boxing,  leaping,  and 
quarter-staff,  and  frequented,  when  he  could  obtain  leis- 
ure, the  bull-baitings,  and  foot-ball  matches,  hy  which  the 
burgh  was  sometimes  enlivened. 

Richard,  on  the  contrary,  was  dark,  like  his  father  and 
mother,  with  high  features,  beautifully  formed,  but  exhib- 
iting something  of  a  foreign  character  ;  and  his  person 


THE    CANONGATE.  59 

was  tall  and  slim,  though  muscular  and  active.  His  ad- 
dress and  manners  must  have  been  natural  to  him,  lot 
they  were,  in  elegance  and  ease,  far  beyond  any  example 
which  he  could  have  found  in  his  native  burgh.  He 
learned  the  use  of  the  small-sword  while  in  Edinburgh, 
and  took  lessons  from  a  performer  at  the  theatre,  w  ;h  the 
purpose  of  refining  his  mode  of  speaking.  He  beccine 
also  an  amateur  of  the  drama,  regularly  attending  the 
playhouse,  and  assuming  the  tone  of  a  critic  in  that  and 
other  lighter  departments  of  literature.  To  fill  up  the 
contract,  so  far  as  taste  was  concerned,  Richard  was  a 
dexterous  and  successful  angler — Adam,  a  bold  and  un- 
erring shot.  Their  efforts  to  surpass  each  other  in  sup- 
plying Dr.  Gray's  table,  rendered  his  housekeeping  much 
preferable  to  what  it  had  been  on  former  occasions  ;  and 
besides,  small  presents  of  fish  and  game  are  always  agree- 
able amongst  the  inhabitants  of  a  country  town,  and  con- 
tributed to  increase  the  popularity  of  the  young  sportsmen. 

While  the  burgh  was  divided,  for  lack  of  better  subject 
of  disputation,  concerning  the  comparative  merits  of  Dr. 
Gray's  two  apprentices,  he  himself  was  sometimes  chosen 
the  referee.  But  in  this,  as  on  other  matters,  the  Doctor 
was  cautious.  He  said  the  lads  were  both  good  lads,  and 
would  be  useful  men  in  the  profession,  if  their  heads  were 
not  carried  with  the  notice  which  the  foolish  people  of 
the  burgh  took  of  them,  and  the  parties  of  pleasure  that 
were  so  often  taking  them  away  from  their  business.  No 
doubt  it  was  natural  for  him  to  feel  more  confidence  in 
Hartley,  who  came  of  ken'd  folk,  and  was  very  near  .as 
good  as  a  born  Scotsman.  But  if  he  did  feel  such  a 
partiality,  he  blamed  himself  for  it,  since  the  stranger 
child,  so  oddly  cast  upon  his  hands,  had  peculiar  good 
right  to  such  patronage  and  affection  as  he  had  to  bestow  ; 
and  truly  the  young  man  himself  seemed  so  grateful,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  hint  the  slightest  wish,  thai 
Dick  Middlemas  did  not  hasten  to  execute. 

There  were  persons  in  the  burgh  of  Middlemas  who 
were  indiscreet  enough  to  suppose  that  Miss  Menie 
must  be  a  better  judtre  than  any  other  person  of  tl.ecome 


60  CHRONICLES    OF 

parative  merits  of  these  accomplished  personases,  re 
specting  which  the  public  opinion  was  generally  divided. 
No  one  even  of  her  greatest  intimates  ventured  to  put  the 
question  to  her  in  precise  terms  ;  but  her  conduct  was 
narrowly  observed,  and  the  critics  remarked,  that  to  Adam 
Hartley  her  attentions  were  given  more  freely  and  frank- 
ly. She  laughed  with  him,  chatted  with  him,  and  danced 
•with  him ;  while  to  Dick  Middlemas  her  conduct  was 
nore  shy  and  distant.  The  premises  seemed  certain, 
out  the  public  were  divided  in  the  conclusions  which  were 
to  be  drawn  from  them. 

It  was  not  possible  for  the  young  men  to  be  the  subject 
>f  such  discussions  without  being  sensible  that  they  ex* 
isted  ;  and  thus  contrasted  together  by  the  little  society 
in  which  they  moved,  they  must  have  been  made  of  bettei 
than  ordinary  clay,  if  they  had  not  themselves  entered  by 
degrees  into  the  spirit  of  the  controversy,  and  considered 
themselves  as  rivals  for  public  applause. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  forgotten,  that  Menie  Gray  was  by  this 
time  shot  up  into  one  of  the  prettiest  young  \vomen,  not 
of  Middlemas  only,  but  of  the  whole  county,  in  which 
the  little  burgh  is  situated.  This,  indeed,  had  been  set- 
tled by  evidence,  which  could  not  be  esteemed  short  of 
decisive.  At  the  time  of  the  races,  there  were  usually 
assembled  in  the  burgh  some  company  of  the  higher 
classes  from  the  country  around,  and  many  of  the  sobet 
burghers  mended  their  incomes,  by  letting  their  apart- 
ments, or  taking  in  lodgers  of  quality  for  the  busy  week. 
All  the  rural  thanes  and  thanesses  attended  on  these  oc- 
casions ;  and  such  was  the  number  of  cocked  hats  and 
silken  trains,  that  the  little  town  seemed  for  a  time  totally 
to  have  changed  its  inhabitants.  On  this  occasion,  per- 
sons of  a  certain  quality  only  were  permitted  to  attend 
upon  the  nightly  balls  which  were  given  in  the  old  Town- 
nousfc,  and  the  line  of  distinction  excluded  Mr.  Gray'a 
family. 

The  aristocracy,  however,  used  their  privileges  with 
some  feelings  of  deference  to  the  native  beaux  and  belles 
of  the  burgh,  who  were  thus  doomed  to  hear  the  Gddle* 


THE    CAXOXGATE.  61 

nightly,  without  being  permitted  to  dance  to  tlum.  One 
evening  in  the  race-week,  termed  the  Hunters'  Ball,  was 
dedicated  to  general  amusement,  and  liberated  from  the 
usual  restrictions  of  etiquette.  On  this  occasion  all  the 
respectable  families  in  the  town  were  invited  to  share  the 
amusement  of  the  evening,  and  to  wonder  at  the  finery. 
and  be  grateful  for  the  condescension,  of  their  betters. 
This  was  especially  the  case  with  the  females,  for  the 
number  of  invitations  to  the  gentlemen  ot  the  town  was 
much  more  limited.  Now,  at  this  general  muster,  the 
beauty  of  Miss  Gray's  face  and  person  had  placed  her,  in 
the  opinion  of  all  competent  judges,  decidedly  at  the 
head  of  all  the  belles  present,  saving  those  with  whom, 
according  to  the  ideas  of  the  place,  it  would  hardly  have 
been  decent  to  compare  her. 

The  Laird  of  the  ancient  and  distinguished  house  of 
Lo  'oonheieht  did  not  hesitate  to  encase  hrr  hand  during 

*^  ».       ^--  O 

the  greater  part  of  the  evening  ;  and  his  mother,  renown- 
ed for  her  stern  assertion  of  the  distinctions  of  rank, 
placed  the  little  plebeian  beside  her  at  supper,  and  was 
heard  to  say,  that  the  surgeon's  daughter  behaved  very 
prettily  indeed,  and  seemed  to  know  perfectly  well  where 
and  what  she  was.  As  for  the  young  Laird  himself,  he 
capered  so  high,  and  laughed  so  uproariously,  as  to  give 
rise  to  a  rumour,  that  be  wes  minded  to  "  shoot  madly 
from  his  sphere,"  and  to  convert  the  village  Doctor's 
daughter  into  a  lady  of  his  own  ancient  name. 

During  this  memorable  evening,  Middlemas  and  Hart- 
ley, who  had  found  room  in  the  music  gallery,  witnessed 
the  scene,  and,  as  it  would  seem,  with  very  different  feel- 
ings. Hartley  was  evidently  annoyed  by  the  excess  of 
attention  which  the  gallant  Laird  of  Louponheight,  stim 
ulated  by  the  influence  of  a  couple  of  bottles  of  claret, 
and  by  the  presence  of  a  partner  who  danced  remarkably 
well,  paid  to  IMiss  Menie  Gray.  He  saw  from  his  lofty 
stand  all  the  dumb  show  of  gallantry,  with  the  comforta- 
ble feelings  of  a  famishing  creature  looking  upon  a  feasl 
ivhich  he  is  not  permitted  to  share,  and  regarded  every 
11  VOL.  11. 


"•6  CIIRONICI.KS    OF 

extraordinary  frisk  of  the  jovial  Laird,  as  thf  same  irrtglu 
have  been  looked  upon  by  a  gouty  person,  who  apprehend- 
ed that  the  dignitary  was  about  to  descend  on  his  toes.  At 
length,  unable  to  restrain  his  emotion,  he  left  the  gallerj 
and  returned  no  more. 

Far  different  was  the  demeanour  of  Middlemas.  He 
seemed  gratified  and  elevated  by  the  attention  which  was 
generally  paid  to  Miss  Gray,  and  by  the  admiration  she 
excited.  On  the  valiant  Laird  of  Louponheight  he  look- 
ed with  indescribable  contempt,  and  amused  himself  with 
pointing  out  to  the  burgh  dancing-master,  who  acted  pro 
tempore  as  one  of  the  band,  the  frolicsome  bounds  and 
pirouettes,  in  which  that  worthy  displayed  a  great  deal 
more  of  vigour  than  of  grace. 

"  But  ye  shonldna  laugh  sae  loud,  Master  Dick,"  said 
the  master  of  capers  ;  "  he  hasna  had  the  advantage  of  a 
real  gracefu'  teacher  as  ye  have  had  ;  and  troth,  if  he 
listed  to  tak  some  lessons,  I  think  I  could  make  some 
hand  of  his  feet,  for  he  is  a  souple  chield,  and  has  a  gallant 
instep  of  his  ain  ;  and  sic  a  laced  hat  hasna  been  seen 
on  the  causeway  of  Middlemas  this  mony  a  day. — Ye 
are  standing  laughing  there,  Dick  Middlemas  ;  1  would 
have  you  be  sure  he  does  not  cut  you  out  with  your  bonny 
partner  yonder." 

"  He  be  !"  Middlemas  was  beginning  a  sentence 

which  could  not  have  concluded  with  strict  attention 
to  propriety,  when  the  master  of  the  band  summoned 
M'Fittoch  to  his  post,  by  the  following  ireful  expostula- 
tion : — "  What  are  ye  about,  sir  *?  Mind  your  bow-hand. 
How  the  deil  d'ye  think  three  fiddles  is  to  keep  down  a 
bass,  if  yin  o'  them  stands  girning  and  gabbling  as  ye'te 
doing  "?  Play  up,  sir  !" 

Dick  Middlemas,  thus  reduced  to  silence,  continued, 
from  his  lofty  station,  like  one  of  the  gods  of  the  Epicu- 
reans, to  survey  what  passed  below,  without  the  gaieties 
which  he  witnessed  being  able  to  excite  more  than  a 
smile,  which  seemed,  however,  rather  to  indicate  a  good- 
humoured  contempt  for  what  was  passing,  than  a  benev- 
olent sympathy  with  the  pleasures  of  others. 


THE    CANONGATK.  63 


CHAPTER  V. 

Now,  hold  thy  tongue,  Billy  BCWICK,  ne  s;.id 

Of  peaceful  talking  let  me  be; 
But  if  thou'rt  a  man,  as  1  think  tliou  art, 

Come  ower  the  dike  and  fight  with  me. 

Bor'ler  Minstrelsy. 

ON  the  morning  after  this  gay  evening,  the  two  young 
men  were  labouring  together  in  a  plot  of  ground  behind 
Stevenlaw's  Land,  which  the  Doctor  had  converted  into 
a  garden,  where  he  raised,  with  a  view  to  pharmacy  as 
well  as  botany,  some  rare  plants,  which  obtained  the  place 
from  the  vulgar  the  sounding  name  of  the  Physic  Garden7 
Mr.  Gray's  pupils  readily  complied  with  his  wishes,  that 
they  would  take  some  care  of  this  favourite  spot,  to  which 
Doth  contributed  their  labours,  after  which  Hartley  used 
to  devote  himself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  kitchen  garden, 
which  he  had  raised  into  this  respectability  from  a  spot 
not  excelling  a  common  kail-yard,  while  Richard  Middle- 
mas  did  his  utmost  to  decorate  with  flowers  and  shrubs,  a 
sort  of  arbour,  usually  called  Miss  Menie's  bower. 

At  present,  they  were  both  in  the  botanic  patch  of  the 
garden,  when  Dick  Middlemas  asked  Hartley  why  he  had 
left  the  ball  so  soon  the  evening  before  9 

"  I  should  rather  ask  you,"  said  Hartley,  "  what  pleas- 
ure you  felt  in  staying  there  9 — I  tell  you,  Dick,  it  is  a 
shabby  low  place  this  Middlemas  of  ours.  In  the  small- 
est burgh  in  England  every  decent  freeholder  would  have 
been  asked  if  the  Member  gave  a  ball." 

"  What,  Hartley  !"  said  his  companion,  "  are  you, 
of  all  men,  a  candidate  for  the  honour  of  mixing  with  the 
first  born  of  the  earth  9  Mercy  on  us  !  How  will  canny 
Northumberland  (throwing  a  true  northern  accent  on  the 
letter  R,)  acquit  himself?  Methinks  1  see  thee  in  ihy 
pea-green  suit,  dancing  a  jig  with  the  Honourable  Miss 


64  CHRONICLES    OF 

Maddie  MacFudgeon,  while   chiefs   and   thane.3   around 
laughed  as  they  would  do  at  a  hog  in  armour  !" 

"  You  don't,  or  perhaps  you  wont,  understand  me,'J 
said  Hartley.  "  1  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  desire  to  be 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  these  fine  folks — I  care  as  little 
for  them  as  they  do  for  me.  But  as  they  do  not  choose 
to  ask  us  to  dance,  I  don't  see  what  business  they  have 
with  our  partners." 

"  Partners,  said  you  !"  answered  Middlemas  ;  "  I 
don't  think  Menie  is  very  often  yours." 

"  As  often  as  I  ask  her,"  answered  Hartley,  rather 
haughtily. 

"  Ay  *?  Indeed  ? — I  did  not  think  that. — And  hang  me 
if  I  think  so  yet,"  said  Middlemas,  with  the  same  sar- 
castic tone.  "  I  tell  thee,  Adam,  I  will  bet  you  a  bowl 
of  punch,  that  Miss  Gray  will  not  dance  with  you  the 
next  time  you  ask  her.  All  I  stipulate,  is  to  know  the 
day." 

"  I  will  lay  no  bets  about  Miss  Gray,"  said  Hartley  ; 
"  her  father  is  my  master,  and  I  am  obliged  to  him — I 
think  I  should  act  very  scurvily,  if  I  were  to  make  her 
the  subject  of  any  idle  debate  betwixt  you  and  me." 

"  Very  right,"  replied  Middlemas  ;  "  you  should  finish 
one  quarrel  before  you  begin  another.  Pray,  saddle 
your  pony,  ride  up  to  the  gate  of  Louponheight  Castle, 
and  defy  the  Baron  to  mortal  combat,  for  having  presum- 
ed to  touch  the  fair  hand  of  Menie  Gray." 

"  I  wish  you  would  leave  Miss  Gray's  name  out  of  the 
question,  and  take  your  defiances  to  your  fine  folks,  in 
your  own  name,  and  see  what  they  will  say  to  the  sur- 
geon's apprentice." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Adam  Hartley. 
I  was  not  born  a  clown,  like  some  folks,  and  should  care 
little,  if  1  saw  it  fit,  to  talk  to  the  best  of  them  at  the  or- 
dinary, and  make  myself  understood  too." 

"  Very  likely,"  answered  Hartley,  losing  patience  ; 
'  vou  are  me  of  themselves,  you  know — Middlemas  ol 
thai  Ilk." 


THE    CANONGATE.  65 

"You  scoundiel!"  said  Richard,  advancing  on  him 
in  fury,  his  taunting  humour  entirely  changed  into  rage. 

"  Stand  back,"  said  Hartley,  "  or  you  will  come  by 
the  worst  ;  if  you  will  break  rude  jests,  you  must  put  up 
with  rough  answers." 

"  1  will  have  satisfaction  for  this  insult,  by  Heaven  !" 

"  Why,  so  you  shall,  if  you  insist  on  it,"  said  Hartley  ; 
"  but  better,  I  think,  to  say  no  more  about  the  matter. 
We  have  both  spoken  what  would  have  been  better  left 
unsaid.  1  was  in  the  wrong  to  say  what  I  said  to  you, 
although  you  did  provoke  me — And  now  I  have  given 
you  as  much  satisfaction  as  a  reasonable  man  can  ask." 

*'  Sir,"  repeated  Middlemas,  "  the  satisfaction  which  I 
demand,  is  that  of  a  gentleman — the  Doctor  has  a  pair  ot 
pistols." 

"  And  a  pair  of  mortars  also,  which  are  heartily  at 
your  service,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  coming  forward 
from  behind  a  yew  hedge,  where  he  had  listened  to  the 
whole  or  greater  part  of  this  dispute.  "  A  fine  story  it 
would  be  of  my  apprentices  shooting  each  other  with  my 
own  pistols  !  Let  rne  see  either  of  you  fit  to  treat  a  gun- 
shot wound,  before  you  think  of  inflicting  one.  Go,  you 
are  both  very  foolish  boys,  and  I  cannot  take  it  kind  of 
either  of  you  to  bring  the  name  of  my  daughter  into  such 
disputes  as  these.  Hark  ye,  lads,  you  both  owe  me,  I 
think,  some  portion  of  respect,  and  even  of  gratitude — it 
will  be  a  poor  return,  if,  instead  of  living  quietly  with  this 
poor  motherless  girl,  like  brothers  with  a  sister,  you  should 
oblige  me  to  increase  my  expense,  and  abridge  my  com- 
fort, by  sending  cny  child  from  me,  for  the  few  months  that 
you  are  to  remain  here.  Let  me  see  you  shake  hands 
and  let  us  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense." 

While  their  master  spoke  in  this  manner,  both  the  young^ 
men  stood  before  him  in  the  attitude  of  self-convicted 
criminals.  At  the  conclusion  of  his  rebuke,  Hartley  turn 
ed  frankly  round,  and  offered  his  hand  to  his  companion, 
whc  accepted  it,  but  after  a  moment7  *  hesitation.  Thero 
was  lothing  further  passed  on  the  subject,  but  the  lady 

VOL,      II. 


66  CHKOMCLliS    OF 

never  resumed  the  same  sort  of  intimacy  which  had  ex- 
isted betwixt  them  in  their  earlier  acquaintance.  On  the 
contrary,  avoiding  every  connexion  not  absolutely  requir- 
ed by  their  situation,  and  abridging  as  much  as  possible 
even  their  indispensable  intercourse  in  professional  mat- 
ters, they  seemed  as  much  estranged  from  each  other  as 
two  persons  residing  in  the  same  small  house  had  the 
means  of  being. 

As  for  JVlenie  Gray,  her  father  did  not  appear  to  enter- 
tain the  least  anxiety  upon  her  account,  although  from  his 
frequent  and  almost  daily  absence  from  home,  she  was 
exposed  to  constant  intercourse  with  two  handsome  young 
men,  both,  it  might  be  supposed,  ambitious  of  pleasing 
her  more  than  most  parents  would  have  deemed  entirely 
prudent.  Nor  was  Nurse  Jamieson, — her  menial  situ- 
ation, and  her  excessive  partiality  for  her  foster-son  con- 
sidered,— altogether  such  a  matron  as  could  afford  her 
protection.  Gideon  however,  knew  that  his  daugh- 
ter possessed,  in  its  fullest  extent,  the  upright  and  pure 
integrity  of  his  own  character,  and  that  never  father  had 
less  reason  to  apprehend  that  a  daughter  should  deceive 
his  confidence  ;  and,  justly  secure  of  her  principles,  he 
overlooked  the  danger  to  which  he  exposed  her  feelings 
and  affections. 

The  intercourse  betwixt  Menie  and  the  young  men 
seemed  now  of  a  guarded  kind  on  all  sides.  Their  meet- 
ing was  only  at  meals,  and  Miss  Gray  was  at  pains,  per- 
haps by  her  father's  recommendation,  to  treat  them  with 
the  same  degree  of  attention.  This,  however,  was  no 
easy  matter;  for  Hartley  became  so  retiring,  cold,  and 
formal,  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  sustain  any  pro- 
longed intercourse  with  him  ;  whereas  Middlernas,  per- 
fectly at  his  ease,  sustained  his  part  as  formerly  upon  all 
occasions  that  occurred,  and  without  appearing  to  press 
Iiis  intimacy  assiduously,  seemed  nevertheless  to  retain 
.he  complete  possession  of  it. 

The  time  drew  nigh  at  length  when  the  yoong  men, 
freed  from  the  engagements  of  their  indentures,  must  look 
to  flay  their  own  independent  part  in  the  we  rid.  Mr. 


T11K    CA.NiKNGA'l  K. 


Gray  informed  Richard  Middlemas  that  he  had  writteu 
pressrngly  upon  the  subject  to  Monc.aa'a,  and  that  more 
than  once,  but  had  not  yet  received  an  answer  ;  nor  did 
he  presume  to  offer  his  own  advice,  until  the  pleasure  oi 
his  grandfather  should  be  known.  Richard  seemed  to 
endure  this  suspense  with  more  patience  than  the  Doctoi 
thought  belonged  naturally  to  his  character.  He  asked 
no  questions — stated  no  conjectures — showed  no  anxiety, 
but  seemed  to  await  will)  patience  the  turn  which  events 
should  take.  u  My  young  gentleman,"  thought  Mr. 
Gray,  "  has  either  fixed  on  some  course  in  his  own  rnind, 
or  he  is  about  to  be  more  tractable  than  some  points  of 
his  character  have  led  me  to  expect." 

In  fact,  Richard  had  made  an  experiment  on  this  in- 
flexible relative,  by  sending  Mr.  Mon^ada  a  letter  full  of 
duty,  and  affection,  and  gratitude,  desiring  to  be  permit- 
ted to  correspond  with  him  in  person,  and  promising  to  be 
guided  in  every  particular  by  his  will.  The  answer  to 
this  appeal  was  his  own  letter  returned,  with  a  note  from 
the  bankers  whose  cover  had  been  used,  saying,  that  any 
future  attempt  to  intrude  on  Mr.  Mon^ada,  would  put  a 
final  period  to  their  remittances. 

While  things  were  in  this  situation  in  Stevenlaw's  Land, 
Adam  Hartley  one  evening,  contrary  to  his  custom  for 
several  months,  sought  a  private  interview  with  his  fellow- 
apprentice.  He  found  him  in  the  little  arbour,  and  could 
not  omit  observing,  that  Dick  Middlemas,  on  his  appear- 
ance, shoved  into  his  bosom  a  small  packet,  as  if  afraid  of 
its  being  seen,  and  snatching  up  a  hoe,  began  to  work 
with  great  devotion,  like  one  who  wished  to  have  it  thought 
that  his  whole  soul  was  in  his  occupation. 

'•  I  wished  to  speak  with  you,  Mr.  Middlemas,"  said 
Hartley  ;  "  out  1  fear  I  interrupt  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  the  other,  laying  down  his  hoe  ; 
r'  J  was. only  scratching  up  the  weeds  which  the  late  show- 
ers have  made  rush  up  so  numerously.  1  am  at  youi 
serw  ce." 


«>°  ciiUoMtLEs  or 

Hartley  proceeded  to  the  arbour,  and  seated 
Richard  imitated  bis  example,  and  seemed  to  wait  for  the 
proposed  communication. 

"  1  have  bad  an  interesting:  communication  with  Mr. 

- 

Gray — "  said  Hartley,  and  there  stopped,  like  one  who 
finds  himself  entering  upon  a  difficult  task. 

"  1  hope  the  explanation  has  been  satisfactory  ?"  said 
Middlemas. 

"  You  shall  judge. — Doctor  Gray  was  pleased  to  say 
something  to  me  very  civil  about  my  proficiency  in  the 
duties  of  our  profession  ;  and,  to  my  great  aslonisnment, 
asked  roe,  whether,  as  be  was  now  becoming  old,  I  bad 
•any  particular  objection  to  continue  in  my  present  situa- 
tion, but  with  some  pecuniary  advantages,  for  two  years 
longer ;  at  the  end  of  which,  be  promised  to  me  that  I 
should  enter  into  partnership  with  him." 

"  Mr.  Gray  is  an  undoubted  judge,"  said  Middlemas 
"  what  person  will  best  suit  him  as  a  professional  assistant. 
The  business  may  be  worth  £200  a-year,  and  an  active 
assistant  might  go  nigh  to  double  it,  by  riding  Strath-De- 
van  and  the  Carse.  No  great  subject  for  division  after 
all,  Mr.  Hartley." 

"But,"  continued  Hartley,  "that  is  not  all.  The 
Doctor  says — he  proposes — in  short,  if  1  can  render  my- 
self agreeable,  in  the  course  of  these  two  years,  to  M  - 
Menie  Gray,  be  proposes,  that  when  they  terminate,  I 
should  become  his  son  as  well  as  his  partner." 

As  he  spoke,  be  kept  bis  eye  fixed  on  Richard's  face, 
which  was  for  a  moment  strongly  agitated  ;  but  instantly 
recovering,  be  answered,  in  a  tone  where  pique  and  offend- 
ed pride  vainly  endeavoured  to  disguise  themselves  under 
•n  affectation  of  indifference,  "  Well,  Master  Adam, 
I  cannot  but  wish  you  joy  of  the  patriarchal  arrangement. 
You  have  served  five  years  for  a  professional  diploma 
— a  sort  of  Leah,  that  privilege  of  killing  and  curing 
Now  you  begin  a  new  course  of  servitude  for  a  lovely 
Racbael.  Undoubtedly — perhaps  it  is  rude  in  m-j  to  ask 
— but  undoubtedly  you  have  accepted  so  flattering  an  ar- 
rangement ?" 


CA.NUNUA  i  il.  69 

'  You  cannot  but  recollect  there  was  a  conditio a  an- 
nexed," said  Hartley,  gravely. 

"  That  of  rendering  yourself  acceptable  to  a  zir\  you 
have  known  for  so  many  years  *"  said  Micidieoias,  with  a 
half-suppressed  sneer.  "  No  great  difficulty  in  that.  I 
should  think,  for  such  a  person  as  Mr.  Hartley,  with  Doc- 
tor Gray's  favour  to  back  him.  No,  no— there  could  be 
no  great  obstacle  there." 

"  Both  you  and  I  know  the  contrary.  Mr.  MiddleniasJ" 
said  Hartley,  very  seriously. 

"  1  know  1 — How  should  I  know  anything  more  than 
yourself  about  the  state  of  Miss  Gray's  inclinations  ?" 
said  Middlemas.  "  I  am  sure  we  have  had  equal  access 
to  know  them." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  some  know  better  how  to  avail 
themselves  of  opportunities.  Mr.  Middlemas,  1  have  long 
suspected  that  you  have  bad  the  inestimable  advantage 
of  possessing  Miss  Gray's  affections,  and " 

**  I  ? — "  interrupted  Middlemas ;  "  you  are  jesting,  or 
you  are  jealous.  You  do  yourself  less,  and  roe  more,  than 
justice  ;  but  the  compliment  is  so  great,  that  1  am  obliged 
to  you  for  the  mistake." 

**  That  you  may  know,"  answered  Hartley,  **  I  do  not 
speak  either  by  guess,  or  from  what  you  call  jealousy,  I 
tell  you  frankly,  that  Menie  Gray  herself  told  me  the  state 
of  her  affections.  1  naturally  communicated  to  her  the 
discourse  I  had  with  her  father.  I  told  her  I  was  but  too 
well  convinced  that  at  the  present  moment  1  did  not  pos- 
sess that  interest  in  her  heart,  which  alone  might  entitle 
me  to  request  her  acquiescence  in  the  views  which  her 
father's  goodness  held  out  to  me ;  but  I  entreated  her  not 
at  once  to  decide  against  me,  but  give  me  an  opportunity 
to  make  way  in  her  affections,  if  possible  ;  trusting  that 
time,  and  the  sen-ices  which  I  should  render  to  her  father, 
might  have  an  ultimate  effect  in  my  favour." 

"  A  most  natural  and  modest  request.  But  what  did 
Jie  young  lady  say  in  reply  $" 

*'  She  is  a  noble-hearted  girl,  Richard  Middlemas ;  and 

•or  her  frankness  alone,  even  without  her  beauty  and  her 

' 


70  CHRONICLES    OF 

good  sense,  deserves  an  emperor.  I  cannot  express  the 
graceful  modesty  with  which  she  told  me.  that  she  knew 
too  well  the  kindliness,  as  she  was  pleased  to  call  it,  of 
my  heart,  to  expose  me  to  the  protracted  pain  of  an  un- 
requited passion.  She  candidly  informed  me  that  she  had 
been  long  engaged  to  you  in  secret — that  you  had  ex- 
changed portraits ; — and  though,  without  her  father's 
consent  she  would  never  become  yours,  yet  she  felt  it  im- 
possible that  she  should  ever  so  far  change  her  sentimenta 
as  to  afford  the  most  distant  prospect  of  success  to  an- 
other." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Middlemas,  "  she  has  been 
extremely  candid  indeed,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
her  !" 

"  And  upon  my  honest  word,  Mr.  Middlemas,"  return- 
ed Hartley,  "  you  do  Miss  Gray  the  greatest  injustice — 
nay,  you  are  ungrateful  to  her,  if  you  are  displeased  at 
her  making  this  declaration.  She  loves  you  as  a  woman 
loves  the  first  object  of  her  affection — she  loves  you  bet- 
ter— "  He  stopped,  and  Middlemas  completed  the  sen- 
tence. 

"  Better  than  I  deserve,  perhaps  9 — Faith,  it  may  well 
be  so,  and  I  love  her  dearly  in  return.  But.  after  all,  you 
know  the  secret  was  mine  as  well  as  hers,  and  it  would 
have  been  better  that  she  had  consulted  me  before  mak- 
ing it  public." 

"  Mr.  Middlemas,"  said  Hartley,  earnestly,  "  if  the 
least  of  this  feeling,  on  your  part,  arises  from  the  appre- 
hension that  your  secret  is  less  safe  because  it  is  in  m} 
keeping,  I  can  assure  you  that  such  is  my  grateful  sense 
of  Miss  Gray's  goodness,  in  communicating,  to  save  me 
pain,  an  affair  of  such  delicacy  to  herself  and  you,  that 
wild  horses  should  tear  me  limb  from  limb,  before  they 
forced  a  word  of  it  from  my  lips." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Middlemas,  with  a 
frankness  of  manner  indicating  a  cordiality  that  had  not 
existed  between  them  for  some  time,  "  you  must  allow 
me  to  be  a  little  jealous  in  my  turn.  Your  true  lover 
cannot  have  a  title  to  the  name  unless  he  be  sometime* 


THE    CAKOJVGATE.  71 

^treasonable  ;  and  somehow,  it  seems  odd  she  should  have 
chosen  for  a  confidant  one  whom  1  have  often  thought  a 
formidable  rival  ;  and  yet  1  am  so  far  from  being  displeased, 
that  1  do  not  know  that  the  dear  sensible  girl  could  after 
al.  have  made  a  better  choice.  It  is  time  that  the  fool- 
ish coldness  between  us  should  be  ended,  as  you  must 
be  sensible  that  its  real  cause  lay  in  our  rivalry  I 
have  much  need  of  good  advice,  and  who  can  give  it  to 
me  better  than  the  old  companion,  whose  soundness  of 
judgment  I  have  always  envied,  even  when  some  injudi- 
cious friends  have  given  me  credit  for  quicker  parts  ?" 

Hartley  accepted  Richard's  proffered  hand,  but  without 
any  of  the  buoyancy  of  spirit  with  which  it  was  offered. 

"  1  do  not  intend,"  he  said,  "  to  remain  many  days  in 
this  place,  perhaps  not  very  many  hours.  But  if,  in  the 
meanwhile,  1  can  benefit  you,  by  advice  or  otherwise,  you 
may  fully  command  me.  It  is  the  only  mode  in  which  I 
can  be  of  service  to  Menie  Gray." 

"  Love  my  mistress,  love  me  ;  a  happy  pendant  to  the 
old  proverb,  Love  me,  love  my  dog.  Well,  then,  for 
Menie  Gray's  sake,  if  not  for  Dick  Middlemas's,  (plague 
on  that  vulgar  tell-tale  name,)  will  you,  that  are  a  slander- 
by,  tell  us,  who  are  the  unlucky  players,  what  you  think 
of  this  game  of  ours  *?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question,  when  the  field  lies 
so  fair  before  you  ?  I  am  sure  that  Dr.  Gray  would  re- 
tain you  as  his  assistant  upon  the  same  terms  which  he 
proposed  to  me.  You  are  the  belter  match,  in  all  worldly 
respects,  for  his  daughter,  having  some  capital  to  begin 
the  world  with." 

"  All  true — but  methinks  Mr.  Gray  has  showed  no  great 
predilection  for  me  in  this  matter." 

"  If  he  has  done  injustice  to  your  indisputable  merit,'' 
said  Hartley  dryly,  "  the  preference  of  his  daughter  has 
more  than  atoned  for  it." 

"  Unquestionably,  and  dearly,  therefore,  do  I  love  her; 
otherwise,  Adam,  I  am  not  a  person  to  grasp  at  the  leav- 
ings of  other  people." 


72  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  Richard,"  replied  Hartley,  "  that  pride  of  yours  il 
you  do  not  check  it,  will  render  you  both  ungrateful  and 
miserable.  Mr.  Gruy:s  ideas  are  most  friendly.  He  told 
me  plainly,  that  his  choice  of  me  as  an  assistant,  and  as  a 
member  of  his  family,  had  been  a  long  time  balanced  by 
his  early  affection  for  you,  until  he  thought  he  had  re- 
marked in  you  a  decisive  discontent  with  such  limited 
prospects  as  his  offer  contained,  and  a  desire  to  go  abroad 
into  the  world,  and  push,  as  it  is  called,  your  fortune. 
He  said,  that  although  it  was  very  probable  that  you  might 
love  his  daughter  well  enough  to  relinquish  these  ambitious 
ideas  for  her  sake,  yet  the  demons  of  Ambition  and  Av- 
arice would  return  after  the  exerciser  Love  had  exhaust- 
ed the  force  of  his  spells,  and  then  he  thought  he  would 
have  just  reason  to  be  anxious  for  his  daughter's  happi- 
ness." 

"  By  my  faith,  the  worthy  senior  speaks  scholarly  and 
wisely,"  answered  Richard — "  I  did  not  think  he  had  been 
so  clear-sighted.  To  say  the  truth,  but  for  the  beautiful 
Menie  Gray,  I  should  feel  like  a  mill-horse,  walking  my 
daily  round  in  this  dull  country,  while  other  gay  rovers 
are  trying  how  the  world  will  receive  them.  For  instance 
where  do  you  yourself  go  T' 

"  A  cousin  of  rny  mother's  commands  a  ship  in  the 
Company's  service.  I  intend  to  go  with  him  as  surgeon's 
mate.  If  I  like  the  sea  service,  I  will  continue  in  it;  il 
not,  I  will  enter  some  other  line."  This,  Hartley  said 
with  a  sigh. 

"  To  India  !"  answered  Richard  ;  "  happy  dog — to 
India  !  You  may  well  bear  with  equanimity  all  disappoint- 
ments sustained  on  this  side  of  the  globe.  Oh,  Delhi  ! 
oh,  Golconda  !  have  your  names  no  power  to  conjure 
doxvn  idle  recollections  9 — India,  where  gold  is  won  by 
steel ;  where  a  brave  man  cannot  pitch  his  desire  of  fame 
and  wealth  so  high,  but  that  he  may  realize  it,  if  he  have 
fortune  to  his  friend  !  Is  it  possible  that  the  bold  adven 
turer  can  fix  his  thoughts  on  you,  and  still  be  dejected  a! 
the  thoughts  that  a  bonny  blue-eyed  lass  looked  favour- 
ably on  a  less  lucky  fellow  than  himself?  Can  this  be  q> 


THE    CANOXGATE.  73 

*{  Less  lucky  ?'  said  Hartley.  "  Can  you,  the  accept- 
ed lover  of  Menie  Gray,  speak  in  that  tone,  even  though 
it  be  in  jest1?" 

"  Nay,  Adam,"  said  Richard,  "  don't  be  angry  with 
me,  because,  being  thus  far  successful,  1  rate  my  good 
fortune  not  quite  so  rapturously  as  perhaps  you  do,  who 
have  missed  the  luck  of  it.  Your  philosophy  should  tell 
you,  that  the  object  which  we  attain,  or  are  sure  of  at- 
taining, loses,  perhaps,  even  by  that  very  certainty,  a  little 
of  the  extravagant  and  ideal  value,  which  attached  to  it 
while  the  object  of  feverish  hopes  and  aguish  fears.  But 
for  all  that,  I  cannot  live  without  my  sweet  Menie.  I 
would  wed  her  to-morrow,  with  all  my  soul,  without  think- 
ing a  minute  on  the  clog  which  so  early  a  marriage  would 
fasten  on  our  heels.  But  to  spend  two  additional  years 
in  this  infernal  wilderness,  cruizing  after  crowns  and  half- 
crowns,  when  worse  men  are  making  lacs  and  crores  of 
rupees — It  is  a  sad  falling  off,  Adarn.  Counsel  me,  my 
friend, — can  you  not  suggest  some  mode  of  getting  off 
from  these  two  years  of  destined  dulness  ?" 

"  Not  1,"  replied  Hartley,  scarce  repressing  his  dis- 
pleasure;  "  and  if  I  could  induce  Dr.  Gray  to  dispense 
v?th  so  reasonable  a  condition,  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
do  so.  You  are  but  twenty-one,  and  if  such  a  period  of 
probation  was,  in  the  Doctor's  prudence,  judged  neces- 
sary for  me,  who  am  full  two  years  older,  1  have  no  idea 
that  he  will  dispense  with  it  in  yours." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Middlemas;  "  but  do  you  not 
think  that  these  two,  or  call  them  three,  years  of  proba- 
tion, had  better  be  spent  in  India,  where  much  may  be 
done  in  a  little  while,  than  here,  where  nothing  can  be 
done  save  just  enough  to  get  salt  to  our  broth,  or  broth  to 
our  salt  ?  Methinks  I  have  a  natural  turn  for  India,  and 
so  I  ought.  My  father  was  a  soldier,  by  the  conjecture 
of  all  who  saw  him,  and  gave  me  a  love  of  the  sword,  and 
an  arm  to  use  one.  My  mother's  father  was  a  rich  traf- 
ficker, who  loved  wealth,  I  warrant  me,  and  knew  how  to 
get  i:.  This  petty  two  hundred  a  year,  with  its  miserable 

VOL.    II. 


74  CHRONICLKS    OF 

and  precarious  possibilities,  to  be  shared  with  the  old  gen- 
tleman, sounds  in  the  ears  of  one  like  me,  who  have  the 
world  for  the  winning,  and  a  sword  to  cut  my  way  through 
it,  like  something  little  better  than  a  decent  kind  of  beg- 
gary. Menie  is  in  herself  a  gem — a  diamond — I  admit  it. 
But  then  one  would  not  set  such  a  precious  jewel  in  lead 
or  copper,  but  in  pure  gold  ;  ay,  and  add  a  circlet  of  bril 
limits  to  set  it  off  with.  Be  a  good  fellow,  Adam,  and 
undertake  the  setting  my  project  in  proper  colours  before 
the  Doctor.  1  am  sure,  the  wisest  thing  for  him  and 
Menie  both,  is  to  permit  me  to  spend  this  short  time  of 
probation  in  the  land  of  cowries.  I  am  sure  my  heart  will 
be  there  at  any  rate,  and  while  I  am  bleeding  some  bump- 
kin for  an  inflammation,  I  shall  be  in  fancy  relieving  some 
nabob,  or  rajahpoot,  of  his  plethora  of  wealth.  Come — 
will  you  assist,  will  you  be  auxiliary  *?  Ten  chances  but 
you  plead  your  own  cause,  man,  for  I  may  be  brought  up 
by  a  sabre,  or  a  bow-string,  before  I  make  my  pack  up  ; 
then  your  road  to  Menie  will  be  free  and  open,  and,  as 
you  will  be  possessed  of  the  situation  of  comforter  ex 
officio,  you  may  take  her  '  with  the  tear  in  her  ee,'  as  old 
saws  advise." 

"  Mr.  Richard  Middlemas,"  said  Hartley,  "  I  wish  it 
were  possible  for  me  to  tell  you,  in  the  few  words  which 
I  intend  to  bestow  on  you,  whether  I  pity  you  or  despise 
you  the  most.  Heaven  has  placed  happiness,  compe- 
tence, and  content  within  your  power,  and  you  are  willing 
to  cast  them  away,  to  gratify  ambition  and  avarice.  Were 
1  to  give  an  advice  on  this  subject,  either  to  Dr.  Gray  or 
his  daughter,  it  would  be  to  break  off  all  connexion  with 
a  man,  who,  however  clever  by  nature,  may  soon  show 
himself  a  fool,  and  however  honestly  brought  up,  may  also 
upon  temptation,  prove  himself  a  villain. — You  may  lav- 
aside  the  sneer,  which  is  designed  to  be  a  sarcastic  smile. 
I  will  not  attempt  to  do  this,  because  1  am  convinced  that 
my  advice  would  be  of  no  use,  i^iless  it  could  come  un- 
attended with  suspicion  of  my  motives.  I  will  hasten  rny 
departure  from  .his  house,  that  we  may  not  meet  again  ; 
and  I  will  leave  t  to  God  Almighty  to  protect  honesty  ana 


THE    CANONGATE.  7i 

innocence  against  the  dangers  which  must  attend  vanity 
and  folly."  So  saying,  he  turned  contemptuously  from 
the  youthful  votary  of  ambition,  and  left  the  garden. 

"  Stop,"  said  JMiddlemas,  struck  with  the  picture  which 
had  been  held  up  to  his  conscience — "  Stop,  Adam  Hart- 
ley, and  1  will  confess  to  you — "  But  his  words  were  ut- 
*-ered  in  a  faint  and  hesitating  manner,  and  either  never 
reached  Hartley's  ear,  or  failed  in  changing  his  purpose 
of  departure. 

When  he  was  out  of  the  garden,  Middlemas  began  to 
recall  his  usual  boldness  of  disposition — "  Had  he  stayed 
a  moment  longer,"  he  said,  "  i  would  have  turned  Pa- 
pist, and  made  him  my  ghostly  confessor.  Theyeoman- 
'y  churl  ! — I  would  give  something  to  know  how  he  has 
got  such  a  hank  over  me.  What  are  Menie  Gray's  en- 
gagements to  him  9  She  has  given  him  his  answer,  and 
what  right  has  he  to  come  betwixt  her  and  me  9  If  old 
Monc.ada  had  done  a  grandfather's  duty,  and  made  suit- 
able settlements  on  me,  this  plan  of  marrying  the  sweet 
girl,  and  settling  here  in  her  native  place,  might  have  done 
well  enough.  But  to  live  the  life  of  the  poor  drudge  her 
father — to  be  at  the  command  and  call  of  every  boor  for 
twenty  miles  round  ! — why,  the  labours  of  a  higgler,  who 
travels  scores  of  miles  to  barter  pins,  ribands,  snuff  and 
tobacco,  against  the  housewife's  private  stock  of  eggs, 
mort-skins,  and  tallow,  is  more  profitable,  less  laborious, 
and  faith,  I  think  equally  respectable.  No,  no — unless  I 
can  find  wealth  nearer  home,  1  will  seek  it  where  every 
one  can  have  it  for  the  gathering ;  and  so  I  will  down  ic 
th?  Swan  Inn,  and  hold  a  fina'  consultation  with  my 
fr'  md." 


76 


CHRONICLES    OF 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  friend  whom  Middlemas  expected  to  meet  at  the 
Swan,  was  a  person  already  mentioned  in  this  history  by 
the  name  of  Tom  Hillary,  bred  an  attorney's  clerk  in  the 
ancient  town  of  Novum  Castrum — doctus  utriusque  juris, 
33  far  as  a  few  months  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Lawford, 
Town-Clerk  of  Middlemas,  could  render  him  so.  The 
last  mention  that  we  made  of  this  gentleman,  was  when 
his  gold-laced  hat  veiled  its  splendour  before  the  fresher 
mounted  beavers  of  the  'prentices  of  Dr.  Gray,  That 
was  now  about  five  years  since,  and  it  was  within  six 
months  that  he  had  made  his  appearance  in  Middlemas, 
a  very  different  sort  of  personage  from  tnat  which  he 
seemed  at  his  departure. 

He  was  now  called  Captain  ;  his  dress  was  regimental, 
and  his  language  martial.  He  seemed  to  have  plenty  of 
cash,  for  he  not  only,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  parties, 
paid  certain  old  debts,  which  he  had  left  unsettled  behind 
him,  and  that  notwithstanding  his  having,  as  his  old  prac- 
tice told  him,  a  good  defence  of  prescription,  but  even  sent 
the  minister  a  guinea,  to  the  assistance  of  the  parish  poor 
These  acts  of  justice  and  benevolence  were  bruited  abroad 
greatly  to  the  honour  of  one,  who,  so  long  absent,  had 
neither  forgotten  his  just  debts,  nor  hardened  his  heart 
against  the  cries  of  the  needy.  His  merits  were  thought 
the  higher,  when  it  was  understood  he  had  served  the 
honourable  East  India  Company — that  wonderful  com- 
pany of  merchants,  who  may  indeed,  with  the  strictest 
propriety,  be  termed  princes.  It  was  about  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  the  directors  in  Leaden- 
hall  Street  were  silently  laying  the  foundation  of  that  im- 
mense empire,  which  afterwards  rose  like  an  exhalation, 
ond  now  astonishes  Europe,  as  well  as  Asia,  with  its  for- 


THE    CANOXGATE.  77 

midable  extent,  and  stupendous  strength.  Britain  had  now 
begun  to  lend  a  wondering  ear  to  the  account  of  battles 
fought,  and  cities  won,  in  the  East ;  and  was  surprised  by 
the  return  of  individuals  who  had  left  their  native  country 
as  adventurers,  but  now  reappeared  there  surrounded  by 
Oriental  wealth  and  Oriental  luxury,  which  dimmed  even 
the  splendour  of  the  most  wealthy  of  the  British  nobility. 
Jn  this  new-found  El  Dorado,  Hillary  had,  it  seems,  been 
a  labourer,  and,  if  he  told  truth,  to  some  purpose,  though 
he  was  far  from  having  completed  the  harvest  which  he 
meditated.  He  spoke  indeed  of  making  investments,  and, 
as  a  mere  matter  of  fancy,  he  consulted  his  old  master, 
Clerk  Lawford,  concerning  the  purchase  of  a  moor-land 
farm,  of  three  thousand  acres,  for  which  he  would  be  con- 
tent to  give  three  or  four  thousand  guineas,  providing  the 
game  was  plenty,  and  the  trouting  in  the  brook  such  as 
had  been  represented  by  advertisement.  But  he  did  not 
wish  to  make  any  extensive  landed  purchase  at  present. 
It  was  necessary  to  keep  up  his  interest  in  Leadenhall 
Street  ;  and  in  that  view,  it  would  be  impolitic  to  part 
with  his  India  stock  and  India  bonds.  Jn  short,  it  was 
folly  to  think  of  settling  on  a  poor  thousand  or  twelve 
hundred  a-year,  when  one  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
had  no  liver  complaint ;  and  so  he  was  determined  to 
double  the  Cape  once  again,  ere  he  retired  to  the  chim- 
ney corner  of  life.  All  he  wished  was,  to  pick  up  a  few 
clever  fellows  for  his  regiment,  or  rather  for  his  own  com- 
pany ;  and  as  in  all  his  travels  he  had  never  seen  finer 
fellows  than  about  Middlemas,  he  was  willing  to  give 
them  the  preference  in  completing  his  levy.  In  fact,  it 
was  making  men  of  them  at  once,  for  a  few  white  faces 
never  failed  to  strike  terror  into  these  black  rascals  ;  and 
then,  not  to  mention  the  good  things  that  were  going  at  the 
storming  of  a  Pettah,  or  the  plundering  of  a  Pagoda,  most 
of  these  tawney  dogs  carried  so  much  treasure  aboul 
thpir  persons,  that  a  won  battle  was  equal  to  a  mine  ol 
go'd  to  the  victors. 

VOL.    II. 


78  CHKONICLES    OF 

The  natives  of  Middlemas  listened  to  the  noble  Captain's 
marvels  with  different  feelings,  as  their  temperaments  were 
saturnine  or  sanguine.  But  none  could  deny  that  such 
things  had  heen  ;  and  as  the  narrator  was  known  to  be  a 
bold  dashing  fellow,  possessed  of  some  abilities,  and,  ac- 
cording to  ths  general  opinion,  not  likely  to  be  withheld  by 
any  peculiar  scruples  of  conscience,  there  was  no  giving 
any  good  reason  why  Hillary  should  not  have  been  as  3.ic- 
cessful  as  others  in  the  field,  which  India,  agitated  as  it 
was  by  war  and  intestine  disorders,  seemed  tc  offer  to 
every  enterprizing  adventurer.  He  was  accordingly  re- 
ceived by  his  old  acquaintances  at  Middlemas  rather  with 
the  respect  due  to  his  supposed  wealth,  than  in  a  manner 
corresponding  with  his  former  humble  pretensions. 

Some  of  the  notables  of  the  village  did  indeed  keep 
aloof.  Among  these,  the  chief  was  Dr.  Gray,  who  was 
an  enemy  to  every  thing  that  approached  to  fanfaronade, 
and  knew  enough  of  the  world  to  lay  it  down  as  a  sort  of 
general  rule,  that  he  who  talks  a  great  deal  of  fighting  is 
seldom  a  brave  soldier,  and  he  who  always  speaks  about 
wealth  is  seldom  a  rich  man  at  bottom.  Clerk  Lawford 
was  also  shy,  notwithstanding  his  communings  with  Hillary 
upon  the  subject  of  his  intended  purchase.  The  coolness 
of  the  Captain's  old  employer  towards  him  was  by  some 
supposed  to  arise  out  of  certain  circumstances  attending 
their  former  connexion  ;  but  as  the  Clerk  himself  never 
explained  what  these  were,  it  is  unnecessary  to  make  any 
conjectures  upon  the  subject. 

Richard  Middlemas  very  naturally  renewed  his  intima- 
cy with  his  former  comrade,  and  it  was  from  Hillary's 
conversation,  that  he  had  adopted  the  enthusiasm  respect- 
ing India,  which  we  have  heard  him  express.  It  was  in- 
deed impossible  for  a  youth,  at  once  inexperienced  in  the 
world,  and  possessed  of  a  most  sanguine  disposition,  to 
listen  without  sympathy  to  the  glowing  descriptions  ot 
Hillary,  who,  though  only  a  recruiting  captain,  had  all  the 
eloquence  of  a  recruiting  sergeant.  Palaces  rose  like 
mushrooms  in  his  descriptions  ;  groves  of  lofty  trees,  and 
aromatic  shrubs  unknown  to  the  chilly  soils  of  Europe, 


THE    CANONGATE.  79 

were  tenanted  by  every  object  of  the  chase,  from  the 
royal  tiger  down  to  the  jackall.  The  luxuries  of  a  Natch, 
and  the  psculiar  Oriental  beauty  of  the  enchantresses  who 
perfumed  their  voluptuous  Eastern  domes,  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  haughty  English  conquerors,  were  no  less  attrac- 
tive than  the  battles  and  sieges  on  which  the  Captain  at 
other  times  expatiated.  Not  a  stream  did  he  mention  but 
flowed  over  sands  of  gold,  and  not  a  palace  that  was  in- 
ferior to  those  of  the  celebrated  Fata  Morgana.  His 
descriptions  seemed  steeped  in  odours,  and  his  every 
phrase  perfumed  in  ottar  of  roses.  The  interviews  at 
which  these  descriptions  took  place,  often  ended  in  a  bottle 
of  choicer  wine  than  the  Swan  Inn  afforded,  wilh  some 
other  appendages  of  the  table,  which  the  Captain,  who 
was  a  bon-vivant,  had  procured  from  Edinburgh.  From 
this  good  cheer  Middlemas  was  doomed  to  retire  to  the 
homely  evening  meal  of  his  master,  where  not  all  the  sim- 
ple beauties  of  Menie  were  able  to  overcome  his  disgust 
at  the  coarseness  of  the  provisions,  or  his  unwillingness  to 
answer  questions  concerning  the  diseases  of  the  wretched 
peasants  who  were  subjected  to  his  inspection. 

Richard's  hopes  of  being  acknowledged  by  his  father 
had  long  since  vanished,  and  the  rough  repulse  and  sub- 
sequent neglect  on  the  part  of  Mon^ada,  had  satisfied  him 
that  his  grandfather  was  inexorable,  and  that  neither  then, 
nor  at  any  future  time,  did  he  mean  to  realize  the  visions 
which  Nurse  Jamieson's  splendid  figments  had  encouraged 
him  to  entertain.  Ambition,  however,  was  not  lulled  to 
sleep,  though  it  was  no  longer  nourished  by  the  same 
hopes  which  had  at  first  awakened  it.  The  Indian  Cap- 
tain's lavish  oratory  supplied  the  themes  which  had  been  at 
first  derived  from  the  legends  of  the  nursery  ;  the  exploits 
of  a  Lawrence  and  a  Clive,  as  well  as  the  magnificent  op- 
oortunities  of  acquiring  wealth  to  which  these  exploits 
ipened  the  road,  disturbed  the  slumbers  of  the  young  ad- 
venturer. There  was  nothing  to  counteract  these  except 
his  love  for  Menie  Gray,  and  the  engagements  into  which 
it  had  led  him.  But  his  addresses  had  been  paid  to  Menie 
as  much  ror  the  gratification  of  his  vanity,  as  from  anv 


60  CHRONICLES    OF 

decided  passicn  for  that  innocent  and  guileless  being. 
He  was  desirous  of  carrying  off  the  prize,  for  which  Hart- 
ley, whom  he  never  loved,  had  the  courage  to  contend 
with  him.  Then,  Menie  Gray  had  heen  beheld  with  ad- 
miration by  men  his  superiors  in  rank  and  fortune,  but  with 
whom  his  ambition  incited  him  to  dispute  the  prize.  No 
doubt,  though  urged  to  play  the  gallant  at  first  rather  from 
vanity  than  any  other  cause,  the  frankness  and  modesty 
with  which  his  suit  was  admitted,  made  their  natural  im- 
pression on  his  heart.  He  was  grateful  to  the  beauti- 
ful creature,  who  acknowledged  the  superiority  of  his 
person  and  accomplishments,  and  fancied  himself  as  de- 
votedly attached  to  her,  as  her  personal  charms  and  men- 
tal merits  would  have  rendered  any  one  who  was  less  vain 
or  selfish  than  her  lover.  Still  his  passion  for  the  sur- 
geon's daughter  ought  not,  he  prudentially  determined,  to 
bear  more  than  its  due  weight  in  a  case  so  very  important 
as  the  determining  his  line  of  life  ;  and  this  he  smoothed 
over  to  his  conscience,  by  repeating  to  himself,  that  Menie's 
interest  was  as  essentially  concerned  as  his  own,  in  post- 
poning their  marriage  to  the  establishment  of  his  fortune. 
How  many  young  couples  have  been  ruined  by  a  prema- 
ture union  ! 

The  contemptuous  conduct  of  Hartley  in  their  last  in- 
terview, had  done  something  to  shake  his  comrade's  con- 
fidence in  the  truth  of  this  reasoning,  and  to  lead  him  to 
suspect  that  he  was  playing  a  very  sordid  and  unmanly 
part,  in  trifling  with  the  happiness  of  this  amiable  and  un- 
fortunate young  woman.  It  was  in  this  doubtful  humour 
that  he  repaired  to  the  Swan  Inn,  where  he  was  anxiously 
expected  by  his  friend  the  Captain. 

When  they  were  comfortably  seated  over  a  bottle  of 
Paxarete,  IMiddlemas  began,  with  characteristical  caution, 
to  sound  his  friend  about  the  ease  or  difficulty  with  which 
an  individual,  desirous  of  entering  the  Company's  service, 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  gelling  a  commission.  II 
Hillary  had  answered  truly,  he  would  havn  replied  that  it 
»vas  extremely  easy  ;  for,  at  that  time,  the  East  India  ser- 
vice presented  no  charms  to  that  superior  class  of  people 


THE    CANONGATE.  SI 

who  nave  since  struggled  for  admittance  under  its  banners. 
But  the  worthy  Captain  replied,  that  though,  in  the  gen- 
eral case,  it  might  be  difficult  for  a  young  man  to  obtain  a 
commission,  without  serving  for  some  years  as  a  cadet, 
yet,  under  his  own  protection,  a  young  man  entering  his 
regiment,  and  fitted  for  such  a  situation,  might  be  sure  of 
an  ensign^y,  if  not  a  lieutenancy,  as  soon  as  ever  they  set 
foot  in  India.  "  If  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  continued  he, 
extending  his  hand  to  Middleraas,  "  would  think  of  chang- 
ing sheep-head  broth  and  haggis  for  mulagatawny  and 
curry,  I  can  only  say,  that  though  it  is  indispensable  that 
you  should  enter  the  service  at  first  simply  as  a  cadet,  yet 

by ,  you  should  live  like  a  brother  on  the  passage 

with  me  ;  and  no  sooner  were  we  through  the  surf  at 
Madras,  than  I  would  put  you  in  the  way  of  acqtiir'ng  both 
wealth  and  glory.  You  have,  I  think,  some  trifle  of  .noney 
— a  couple  of  thousands  or  so  T' 

"  About  a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred,"  said  Richard, 
affecting  tne  indifference  of  his  companion,  but  feeling 
privately  humbled  by  the  scantiness  of  his  resources. 

"  Jt  is  quite  as  much  as  you  will  find  necessary  for  the 
outfit  and  passage,"  said  his  adviser  ;  "  and,  indeed,  if 
you  had  not  a  farthing,  it  would  be  the  same  thing ;  for  if 
I  once  say  to  a  friend,  I'll  help  you,  Tom  Hillary  is  not 
the  man  to  start  for  fear  of  the  cowries.  However,  it  is 
as  well  you  have  something  of  a  capital  of  your  own  to 
begin  upon." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  proselyte — "  I  should  not  like  to 
be  a  burden  on  any  one.  1  have  some  thoughts,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  to  marry  before  1  leave  Britain  ;  and  in 
that  case,  you  know,  cash  will  be  necessary,  whether  my 
wife  goes  out  with  us,  or  remains  behind,  till  she  hear  how 
luck  goes  with  me.  So,  after  all,  I  may  have  to  borrow  a 
few  hundreds  of  you." 

"  What  the  devil  is  that  you  say,  Dick,  about  marrying 
and  giving  in  marriage  1"  replied  his  friend — "  What  can 
put  it  into  the  head  of  a  gallant  young  fellow  like  you, 
•list  rising  twenty-one,  and  six  feet  high  01  your  stocking 


32  CHKOMCJ.KS    OF 

soles,  to  make  a  slave  of  yourself  for  life  1   No,  no,  Dick, 
thai  will  never  do.     Remember  the  old  song — 

"  Bachelor  Bluff,  bachelor  Bluff, 

Hey  for  a  heart  that's  rugged  and  tough." 

"  Ay,  ay,  that  sounds  very  well,"  replied  Middlemas  • 
"  but  then  one  must  shake  off  a  number  of  old  recollec- 
tions." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  Dick  ;  old  recollections  are 
like  old  clothes,  and  should  be  sent  off  by  wholesale  ;  they 
only  take  up  room  in  one's  wardrobe,  and  it  would  be  old- 
fashioned  to  wear  them.  But  you  look  grave  upon  it. 
Who  the  devil  is  it  has  made  such  a  hole  in  your  heart  V 

"  Pshaw  !"  answered  Middlemas,  "  I  am  sure  you  must 
remember — Menie — my  master's  daughter." 

"  What,  JYliss  Green,  the  old  pottercarrier's  daughter  9 
— a  likely  girl  enough,  1  think." 

"  My  master  is  a  surgeon,"  said  Kichard,  "  not  an 
apothecary,  and  his  name  is  Gray." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Green  or  Gray — what  does  it  signify  1  He 
sells  his  own  drugs,  I  think,  which  we  in  the  south  call 
being  a  pottercarrier.  The  girl  is  a  likely  girl  enough  for 
a  Scottish  ball-room. — But  is  she  up  to  any  thing  *?  Has 
she  any  nouz  ?" 

"  Why,  she  is  a  sensible  girl,  save  in  loving   me,"  an 
swered  Richard  ;  "  and  that,  as  Benedict  says,  is  no  prooi 
of  her  wisdom,  and  no  great  argument  of  her  folly." 

"  But  has  she  spirit — spunk — dash — a  spice  of  the  devil 
about  her  "?" 

"  Not  a  pennyweight — the  kindest,  simplest,  and  moyt 
manageable  of  human  beings,"  answered  the  lover. 

"  She  won't  do  then,"  said  the  monitor,  in  a  decisive 
lone.  "  1  am  sorry  for  it,  Dick  ;  but  sh<  will  never  do. 
Theie  are  some  women  in  the  world  that  can  bear  their 
share  in  the  bustling  life  we  live  in  India — ay,  and  I  have 
known  some  of  them  drag  forward  husbands  that  would 
otherwise  have  stuck  fast  in  the  mud  till  the  day  of 
judgment.  Heaven  knows  how  they  paid  the  turnpikes 
they  pushed  them  through  !  But  these  were  none  of  youi 


THE    CANONGATE. 

simple  Susans,  that  think  their  eyes  are  good  .01  nothing 
but  to  look,  at  their  husbands,  or  their  fingers  but  to  sew 
baby-clothes.  Depend  on  it,  you  must  give  up  your  mat- 
rimony, or  your  views  of  preferment.  If  you  wilfully  tie 
a  clog  round  your  throat,  never  think  of  running  a  race  , 
but  do  not  suppose  that  your  breaking  off  with  the  lass 
will  make  any  very  terrible  catastrophe.  A  scene  there 
may  be  at  parting  ;  but  you  will  soon  forget  her  among 
the  native  girls,  and  she  will  fall  in  love  with  Mr.  Tapeit- 
out,  the  minister's  assistant  and  successor.  She  is  not 
goods  for  the  Indian  market,  I  assure  you." 

Among  the  capricious  weaknesses  of  humanity,  that  one 
is  particularly  remarkable  which  inclines  us  to  esteem  per- 
sons and  things  not  by  their  real  value,  or  even  by  our  own 
judgment,  so  much  as  by  the  opinion  of  others,  who  are 
often  very  incompetent  judges.  Dick  Middlemas  had  been 
urged  forward,  in  his  suit  to  Menie  Gray,  by  his  observing 
how  much  her  partner,  a  booby  laird,  had  been  captivated 
by  her;  and  she  was  now  lowered  in  his  esteem,  because 
an  impudent  low-lived  coxcomb  had  presumed  to  talk  of 
her  with  disparagement.  Either  of  these  worthy  gen- 
tlemen would  have  been  as  capable  of  enjoying  the  beau- 
ties of  Homer,  as  judging  of  the  merits  of  Menie  Gray. 

Indeed  the  ascendency  which  this  bold-talking  promise- 
making  soldier  had  acquired  over  Dick  Middlemas,  wilful 
as  he  was  in  general,  was  of  a  despotic  nature  ;  because 
the  Captain,  though  greatly  inferior  in  information  and 
talent  to  the  youth  whose  opinions  he  swayed,  had  skill  in 
suggesting  those  tempting  views  of  rank  and  wealth,  to 
which  Richard's  imagination  had  been  from  childhood 
most  accessible.  One  promise  he  exacted  from  Middle- 
rnas,  as  a  condition  of  the  services  which  he  was  to  ren- 
der him — It  was  absolute  silence  on  the  subject  of  his 
ilestination  for  India,  and  the  views  upon  which  it  took 
place.  "  My  recruits,"  said  the  Captain,  "  have  been  all 
marched  off  for  the  depot  at  the  isle  of  Wight  ;  and  I 
want  to  leave  Scotland,  and  particularly  this  little  burgh, 
without  being  worried  to  death,  of  which  1  must  despair, 
should  it  come  to  be  known  that  I  can  provide  young  grit- 


84  CHRONICLES    OF 

fins,  as  we  call  them,  with  commissions.  Gad,  I  should 
carry  off  all  the  first-born  of  Middlemas  as  cadets,  and 
none  are  so  scrupulous  as  I  am  about  making  promises. 
I  am  as  trusty  as  a  Trojan  for  that ;  and  you  know  I  can- 
not do  that  for  every  one  which  1  would  for  an  old  friend 
like  Dick  Middiemas." 

Dick  promised  secrecy,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the  two 
friends  should  not  even  leave  the  burgh  in  company,  but 
that  the  Captain  should  set  off  first,  and  his  recruit  should 
join  him  at  Edinburgh,  where  his  enlistment  might  be  at- 
tested ;  and  then  they  were  to  travel  together  to  town, 
and  arrange  matters  for  their  Indian  voyage. 

Notwithstanding  the  definitive  arrangement  which  was 
thus  made  for  his  departure,  Middlemas  thought  from  time 
to  time  with  anxiety  and  regret  about  quitting  Menie  Gray, 
after  the  engagement  which  had  passed  between  them. 
The  resolution  was  taken,  however  ;  the  blow  was  neces- 
sarily to  be  struck  ;  and  her  ungrateful  lover,  long  since 
determined  against  the  life  of  domestic  happiness,  which 
he  might  have  enjoyed  had  his  views  been  better  regulat- 
ed, was  now  occupied  with  the  means,  not  indeed  of  break- 
ing off  with  her  entirely,  but  of  postponing  all  thoughts  of 
their  union  until  the  success  of  his  expedition  to  India. 

He  might  have  spared  himself  all  anxiety  on  this  last 
subject.  The  wealth  of  that  India  to  which  he  was  bound 
would  not  have  bribed  Menie  Gray  to  have  left  her  father's 
roof  against  her  father's  commands  ;  still  less  when,  de- 
prived of  his  two  assistants,  he  must  be  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  continued  exertion  in  his  declining  life,  and 
therefore  might  have  accounted  himself  altogether  desert- 
ed, had  his  daughter  departed  from  him  at  the  same  time. 
But  though  it  would  have  been  her  unalterable  determina- 
tion not  to  accept  any  proposal  of  an  immediate  union  of 
their  fortunes,  Menie  could  not,  with  all  a  lover's  power 
of  self-deception,  succeed  in  persuading  herself  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  Richard's  conduct  towards  her.  Modesty,  and 
a  becoming  pride,  prevented  her  from  seeming  to  'notice 
but  could  not  prevent  her  from  bitterly  feeling,  that  her 
lover  was  preferring  the  pursuits  of  ambition  to  the  hum 


THE    CANONGATE.  85 

ble  lot  which  he  might  have  shared  with  her,  and  which 
promised  content  at  least,  if  not  wealth. 

"  If  he  had  loved  me  as  he  pretended,"  such  was  the 
unwilling  conviction  that  rose  on  her  mind,  "  my  father 
would  surely  not  have  ultimately  refused  him  the  same 
terms  which  he  held  out  to  Hartley.  His  objections  would 
have  given  way  to  my  happiness,  nay,  to  Richard's  impor- 
tunities, which  would  have  removed  his  suspicions  of  the 
unsettled  cast  of  his  disposition.  But  I  fear — I  fear  Rich- 
ard hardly  thought  the  terms  proposed  were  worthy  of  his 
acceptance.  Would  it  not  have  been  natural,  too,  that  he 
should  have  asked  me,  engaged  as  we  stand  to  each  other, 
to  have  united  our  fate  before  his  quitting  Europe,  when  I 
might  either  have  remained  here  with  my  father,  or  ac- 
companied him  to  India,  in  quest  of  that  fortune  which  he 
is  so  eagerly  pushing  for  ?  It  would  have  been  wrong — 
very  wrong — in  me  to  have  consented  to  such  a  proposal, 
unless  my  father  had  authorized  it  ;  but  surely  it  would 
have  been  natural  that  Richard  should  have  offered  it  ? 
Alas  !  men  do  not  know  how  to  love  like  women.  Their 
attachment  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  other  passions  and 
predilections, — they  are  daily  engaged  in  pleasures  which 
blunt  their  feelings,  and  in  business  which  distracts  them. 
We — we  sit  at  home  to  weep,  and  to  think  how  coldly 
our  affections  are  repaid  !" 

The  time  was  now  arrived  at  which  Richard  Middle- 
mas  had  a  right  to  demand  the  property  vested  in  the 
hands  of  the  Town-Clerk  and  Doctor  Gray.  He  did  so, 
and  received  it  accordingly.  His  late  guardian  naturally 
inquired,  what  views  he  had  formed  in  entering  on  life  "] 
The  imagination  of  the  ambitious  aspirant  saw  in  this  sim- 
ple question  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  worthy  man,  to 
offer,  and  perhaps  press  upon  him,  the  same  proposa. 
which  he  had  made  to  Hartley.  He  hastened,  therefore, 
to  answer  dryly,  that  he  had  some  hopes  held  out  to  him 
which  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  communicate  ;  but  that  the 
instant  he  reached  London,  he  would  write  to  the  guar- 
dian of  his  youth,  and  acquaint  him  with  the  nature  oi  his 
543 


8b  CHRONICLES    OF 

prospects,  which  he  was  happy  to  say  were  rather  oi  4 
pleasing  character. 

Gideon  who  supposed  that  at  this  critical  period  of  his 
life,  the  father,  or  grandfather,  of  the  young  man  might 
perhaps  have  intimated  a  disposition  to  open  some  inter- 
course with  him.  only  replied, — "  You  have  heen  the  child 
of  mystery,  Richard  ;  and  as  you  came  to  me,  so  yon 
leave  me.  Then,  I  was  ignorant  from  whence  you  came, 
and  now,  I  know  not  whither  you  are  going.  It  is  not, 
perhaps,  a  very  favourable  point  in  your  horoscope,  that 
every  thing  connected  with  you  is  a  secret.  But  as  I  shall 
always  think  with  kindness  on  him  whom  I  have  known 
so  long,  so  when  you  remember  the  old  man,  you  ought 
not  to  forget  that  he  has  done  his  duty  to  you,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  his  means  and  power,  and  taught  you  that  noble 
profession,  by  means  of  which,  wherever  your  lot  casts 
you,  you  may  always  gain  your  bread,  and  alleviate,  at 
the  same  time,  the  distresses  of  your  fellow-creatures." 
Middlemas  was  excited  by  the  simple  kindness  of  his 
master,  and  poured  forth  his  thanks  with  the  greater  pro- 
fusion, that  he  was  free  from  the  terror  of  the  emblem- 
atical collar  and  chain,  which  a  moment  before  seemed  to 
glisten  in  the  hand  of  his  guardian,  and  gape  to  enclose 
his  neck. 

"  One  word  more,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  producing  a  small 
ring-case.  "  This  valuable  ring  was  forced  upon  me  by 
your  unfortunate  mother.  I  have  no  right  to  it,  having 
been  amply  paid  for  my  services  ;  and  1  onlv  accepted  it 
with  the  purpose  of  keeping  it  for  you  till  this  moment 
should  arrive.  It  may  be  useful,  perhaps,  should  there 
occui  any  question  about  your  identity." 

"  Thanks  once  more,  my  more  than  father,  tor  iiiis 
precious  relic,  which  may  indeed  be  useful.  You  shall 
be  repaid,  if  India  has  diamonds  left." 

"  India,  and  diamonds  !"  said  Gray.  "•  Is  your  head 
turned,  child  9" 

"  I  mean,"  stammered  Middlemas,  "  if  London  has 
an)  Indian  diamonds." 


THE    CAJXOAGATE.  8? 

•'  Pooh  !  you  foolish  lad,"  answered  Gray  "  how 
should  you  buy  diamonds,  or  what  should  1  do  with  them 
if  you  gave  me  ever  so  many  1  Get  you  gone  with  you 
while  I  am  angry." — The  tears  were  glistening  in  the  old 
man's  eyes. — "  If  I  get  pleased  with  you  again,  1  shall 
not  know  how  to  part  with  you." 

The  parting  of  Middlemas  with  poor  Menie  was  yet 
more  affecting.  Her  sorrow  revived  in  his  mind  all  the 
liveliness  of  a  first  love,  and  he  redeemed  his  character 
for  sincere  attachment,  by  not  only  imploring  an  instant 
union,  but  even  going  so  far  as  to  propose  renouncing  his 
more  splendid  prospects,  and  sharing  Mr.  (j ray's  humble 
toil,  if  by  doing  so  he  could  secure  his  daughter's  hand. 
But  though  there  was  consolation  in  this  testimony  of  her 
lover's  faith,  Menie  Gray  was  not  so  unwise  as  to  accept 
of  sacrifices  which  might  afterwards  have  been  repent- 
ed of. 

"  No,  Richard,"  she  said,  "  it  seldom  ends  happily 
when  people  alter,  in  a  moment  of  agitated  feeling,  plans 
which  have  been  adopted  under  mature  deliberation.  I 
have  long  seen  that  your  views  were  extended  far  beyond 
so  humble  a  station  as  this  place  affords  promise  of.  It 
is  natural  they  should  do  so,  considering  that  the  circum- 
stances of  your  birth  seem  connected  with  riches  and  with 
rank.  Go,  then,  seek  that  riches  and  rank.  It  is  possi- 
ble your  mind  may  be  changed  in  the  pursuit,  and  if  so, 
think  no  more  about  Menie  Gray.  But  if  it  should  be 
otherwise,  we  may  meet  again,  and  do  not  believe  for  a 
moment  that  there  can  be  a  change  in  Menie  Gray's  feel- 
ings towards  you." 

At  this  interview,  much  more  was  said  than  it  is  neces- 
sary to  repeat,  much  more  thought  than  was  actually  said. 
N  irse  Jamieson,  in  whose  chamber  it  took  place,  folded 
her  bairns,  as  she  called  them,  in  her  arms,  and  declared 
that  Heaven  had  made  them  for  each  other,  and  that  she 
would  not  ask  of  Heaven  to  live  beyond  the  day  when  she 
should  see  them  bridegroom  and  bride. 

At  length,  it  became  necessary  that  the  parting  scene 
should  end  ;  ind  Richard  Middlemas,  mounting  a  horsa 


S3  CHRONICLES    OF 

which  he  had  hired  for  the  journey,  set  off  for  Edinburgh, 
to  which  metropolis  he  had  already  forwarded  his  heavy 
baggage.  Upon  the  road  the  idea  more  than  once  occur- 
red to  him,  that  even  yet  he  had  hetter  return  to  Middle- 
mas,  and  secure  his  happiness  by  uniting  himself  at  once 
to  Menie  Gray,  and  to  bumble  competence.  But  from 
the  moment  that  he  rejoined  his  friend  Hillary  at  their 
appointed  place  of  rendezvous,  he  became  ashamed  even 
to  hint  at  any  change  of  purpose  ;  and  his  late  excited 
feelings  were  forgotten,  unless  in  so  far  as  they  confirmed 
bis  resolution,  that  as  soon  as  he  had  attained  a  certain 
portion  of  wealth  and  consequence,  he  would  haste  to 
share  them  with  Menie  Gray.  Yet  his  gratitude  to  her 
father  did  not  appear  to  have  slumbered,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  gift  of  a  very  handsome  cornelian  seal  set  in  gold, 
and  bearing  engraved  upon  it  Gules,  a  lion  rampant  within 
a  bordure  Or,  which  was  carefully  despatched  to  Steven- 
law's  Land,  Middlemas,  with  a  suitable  letter.  Menie 
knew  the  handwriting,  and  watched  her  father's  looks  as 
he  read  it,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  had  turned  on  a  dif- 
ferent topic.  Her  father  pshawed  and  poohed  a  good 
deal  when  he  had  finished  the  billet,  and  examined  the  seal 

"  Dick  Middlemas,"  he  said,  "  is  but  a  fool  after  all, 
Menie.  J  am  sure  I  am  not  like  to  forget  him,  that  he 
should  send  me  a  token  of  remembrance  ;  and  if  he  would 
be  so  absurd,  could  he  not  have  sent  me  the  improved 
lithotomical  apparatus  '?  And  what  have  I,  Gideon  Gray, 
to  do  with  the  arms  of  my  Lord  Gray  9 — No,  no — my 
old  silver  stamp,  with  the  double  G  upon  it,  will  serve  my 
turn — But  put  the  bonnie  dye8away,  Menie,  my  dear — it 
was  kindly  meant,  at  any  rate." 

The  reader  cannot  doubt  that  the  seal  was  safely  and 
carefully  preserved. 


THE    CANC^TGATE.  99 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  lazar-house  it  seemed,  wherein  were  .aid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased. 

Milton. 

AFTER  the  Captain  had  finished  his  business,  amongst 
which  he  did  not  forget  to  have  his  recruit  regularly  at- 
tested, as  a  candidate  for  glory  in  the  service  of  the  Hon- 
ourable East  India  Company,  the  friends  left  Edinburgh. 
From  thence  they  got  a  passage  by  sea  to  Newcastle, 
where  Hillary  had  also  some  regimental  affairs  to  transact, 
before  he  joined  his  regiment.  At  Newcastle  the  Cap- 
tain had  the  good  luck  to  find  a  small  brig,  commanded 
by  an  old  acquaintance  and  schoolfellow,  which  was  just 
about  to  sail  lor  the  isle  of  Wight.  "  I  have  arranged 
for  our  passage  with  him,"  he  said  to  Middlemas — "  for 
when  you  are  at  the  depot,  you  can  learn  a  little  of  your 
duty,  which  cannot  be  so  well  taught  on  board  of  ship,  and 
then  J  will  find  it  easier  to  have  you  promoted.'* 

"-Do  you  mean,"  said  Richard,  "  that  I  am  .o  stay  at 
the  Isle  of  Wight  all  the  time  that  you  are  jigging  it  away 
in  London  <?" 

"  Ay,  indeed  do  I,"  said  his  comrade,  "  and  it's  best 
for  you  too  ;  whatever  business  you  have  in  London,  I 
can  do  it  for  you  as  well,  or  something  better  than  your- 
self." 

"  But  I  choose  to  transact  my  own  business  myself, 
Captain  Hillary,"  said  Richard. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  remained  your  own  master, 
Mr.  Cadet  INliddlemas.  At  present  you  are  an  enlisted 
recruit  of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company  ;  I  am 
your  officer,  and  should  you  hesitate  to  follow  n.e  f.toard, 
why,  you  foolish  fellow,  I  could  have  you  sent  on  boa.  H 
in  handcuffs." 

VOL      II 


90  CHROMCLES    OF 

This  was  jestingly  spoken  ;  but  yet  there  was  some- 
thing, in  the  tone  which  hurt  JMidcllemas's  pride,  and  alarm- 
ed his  fears.  He  had  observed  of  late,  that  his  friend, 
especially  when  in  company  of  others,  talked  to  him  with 
an  air  of  command  or  superiority,  difficult  to  be  endured, 
and  yet  so  closely  allied  to  the  freedom  often  exercised 
betwixt  two  intimates,  that  he  could  not  find  any  proper 
mode  of  rebuffing,  or  resenting  it.  Such  manifestations  of 
authority  were  usually  followed  by  an  instant  renewal 
of  their  intimacy  ;  but  in  the  present  case  that  did  not 
so  speedily  ensue. 

Middlemas,  indeed,  consented  10  go  with  his  compan- 
ion to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  perhaps  because  if  he  should 
quarrel  with  him,  the  whole  plan  of  his  Indian  voyage, 
and  all  the  hopes  built  upon  it,  must  fall  to  the  ground 
But  he  altered  his  purpose  of  intrusting  his  comrade  with 
his  little  fortune,  to  lay  out  as  his  occasions  might  require, 
and  resolved  himself  to  overlook  the  expenditure  of  his 
money,  which,  in  the  form  of  Bank  of  England  notes, 
was  safely  deposited  in  his  travelling  trunk.  Captain 
Hillary,  finding  that  some  hint  he  had  thrown  out  on  this 
subject  was  disregarded,  appeared  to  think  no  more 
about  it. 

The  voyage  was  performed  with  safety  and  celerity  ; 
and  having  coasted  the  shores  of  that  beautiful  island, 
which  he  who  once  sees  never  forgets,  through  whatever 
part  of  the  world  his  future  path  may  lead  him,  the  ves- 
sel was  soon  anchored  off  the  little  town  of  Ryde  ;  and, 
as  the  waves  were  uncommonly  still,  Richard  felt  the  sick- 
ness diminish,  which  for  a  considerable  part  of  the  pas- 
sage, had  occupied  his  attention  more  than  anything  else. 

The  master  of  the  brig,  in  honour  to  his  passengers,  and 
affection  to  his  old  schoolfellow,  had  formed  an  awning 
upon  aeck,  and  proposed  to  have  the  pleasure  of  giving 
them  a  little  treat  before  they  left  his  vessel.  Lobscous, 
sea-pie,  and  other  delicacies  of  a  naval  description,  had 
Seen  provided  in  a  quantity  far  disproportioned  to  the 
number  of  the  guests.  But  the  punch  which  succeeded 
•vas  of  excellent  quality,  and  portentously  strong.  Cap- 


THE    CANONGATE.  01 

!ain  Hillary  pushed  it  round,  and  insisted  upon  his  com- 
panion taking  his  full  share  in  the  merry  bout,  the  rather 
that,  as  he  facetiously  said,  there  had  heen  some  dryness 
between  them,  which  good  liquor  would  be  sovereign  in 
removing.  He  renewed,  with  additional  splendours,  the 
various  panoramic  scenes  of  India  and  Indian  adventures, 
which  had  first  excited  the  ambition  of  Middlemas,  and 
assured  him,  that  even  if  he  should  not  be  able  to  get  him 
a  commission  instantly,  yet  a  short  delay  would  only  give 
him  time  to  become  better  acquainted  with  his  military 
duties  ;  and  Middlemas  was  too  much  elevated  by  the 
liqmr  he  had  drank,  to  see  any  difficulty  which  could 
oppose  itself  to  his  fortunes.  Whether  those  who  shared 
in  the  com  potation  were  more  seasoned  topers — whether 
Middlemas  drank  more  than  they — or  whether,  as  he 
himself  afterwards  suspected,  his  cup  had  been  drugged, 
like  those  of  King  Duncan's  body-guard,  it  is  certain,  that 
on  this  occasion  he  passed,  with  unusual  rapidity,  through 
all  the  different  phases  of  the  respectable  slate  of  drunk- 
enness,— laughed,  sung,  whooped,  and  hallooed,  was 
maudlin  in  his  fondness,  and  frantic  in  his  wrath,  and  at 
length  fell  into  a  fast  and  imperturbable  sleep. 

The  effect  of  the  liquor  displayed  itself,  as  usual,  in  a 
hundred  wild  dreams  of  parched  deserts,  and  of  serpents 
whose  bite  inflicted  the  most  intolerable  thirst — of  the 
suffering  of  the  Indian  on  the  death-stake — and  the  tor- 
ments of  the  infernal  regions  themselves  ;  when  at  length 
he  awakened,  and  it  appeared  that  the  latter  vision  was 
in  fact  realized.  The  sounds  which  had  at  first  influenced 
his  dreams,  and  at  length  broken  his  slumbers,  were  of 
the  most  horrible,  as  well  as  the  most  melancholy  de- 
scription. They  came  from  the  ranges  of  pallet-beds, 
which  were  closely  packed  together  in  a  species  of  mili- 
tary hospital,  where  a  burning  fever  was  the  prevalent 
complaint.  Many  of  the  patients  were  under  the  influence 
of  a  high  delirium,  during  which  they  shouted,  shrieked, 
laughed,  blasphemed,  and  uttered  the  most  horrible  im- 
precations. Others,  sensible  of  their  condition,  bewailed 
it  with  low  groans,  and  some  attempts  at  devotion,  which 


CHRONICLES    OF 

showed  their  ignorance  of  the  principles,  and  even  the 
forms  of  religion.  Those  who  were  convalescent  talked 
ribaldry  in  a  loud  tone,  or  whispered  to  each  other  in 
cant  language,  upon  schemes  which,  as  far  as  a  passing 
phrase  could  be  understood  by  a  novice,  had  relation  to 
violent  and  criminal  exploits. 

Richard  Middlemas's  astonishment  was  equal  to  his 
horror.  He  had  but  one  advantage  over  the  poor  wretches 
with  whom  he  was  classed,  and  it  was  in  enjoying  tbo 
luxury  of  a  pallet  to  himself — most  of  the  others  being 
occupied  by  two  unhappy  beings.  He  saw  no  one  who 
appeared  to  attend  to  the  wants,  or  to  heed  the  complaints, 
of  the  wretches  around  him,  or  to  whom  he  could  offer 
any  appeal  against  his  present  situation.  He  looked  for 
his  clothes,  that  he  might  arise  and  extricate  himself  from 
this  den  of  horrors  ;  but  his  clothes  were  no  where  to  be 
seen,  nor  did  he  see  his  portmanteau,  or  sea-chest.  It 
was  much  to  be  apprehended  he  would  never  see  them 
more. 

Then,  but  too  late,  he  remembered  the  insinuations 
which  had  passed  current  respecting  his  friend  the  Cap- 
tain, who  was  supposed  to  have  been  discharged  by  Mr. 
Lawford,  on  account  of  some  breach  of  trust  in  the  Town- 
Clerk's  service.  But  that  he  should  have  trepanned  the 
friend  who  had  reposed  his  whole  confidence  in  him — that 
he  should  have  plundered  him  of  his  fortune,  and  placed 
him  in  this  house  of  pestilence,  with  the  hope  that  death 
might  stiMe  his  tongue,  were  iniquities  not  to  have  been 
anticipated,  even  if  the  worst  of  these  reports  were  true 

But  Middlemas  resolved  not  to  be  a-wanting  to  himself 
This  place  must  be  visited  by  some  officer,  military  or 
medical,  to  whom  he  would  make  an  appeal,  and  alarm 
his  fears  at  least,  if  he  could  not  awaken  his  conscience. 
While  he  revolved  these  distracting  thoughts,  tormented 
at  the  same  time  by  a  burning  thirst  which  he  had  no 
means  of  satisfying,  he  endeavoured  to  discover  if,  among 
those  stretched  upon  the  pallets  nearest  him,  he  could  not 
discern  some  one  likely  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
him,  and  give  him  some  information  about  the  nature  and 


THE    CANOXGATE.  93 

customs  of  this  horrid  place.  But  the  bed  nearest  him  was 
occupied  by  two  fellows,  who,  although  to  judge  from 
their  gaunt  cheeks,  hollow  eyes,  and  ghastly  looks,  they 
were  apparently  recovering  from  the  disease,  and  just 
rescued  from  the  jaws  of  death,  were  deeply  engaged  in 
endeavouring  to  cheat  each  other  of  a  few  half-pence  at 
a  a;ame  of  cribbage,  mixing  the  terms  of  the  game  with 
oaths  not  loud  but  deep  ;  each  turn  of  luck  being  hailed 
by  the  winner  as  well  as  the  loser  with  execrations, 
which  seemed  designed  to  blight  both  body  and  soul,  now 
used  as  the  language  of  triumph,  and  now  as  reproaches 
against  fortune. 

Next  to  the  gamblers  was  a  pallet,  occupied  indeed  by 
two  bodies,  but  only  one  of  which  was  living — the  other 
sufferer  had  been  recently  relieved  from  his  agony. 

*'  He  is  dead — he  is  dead  !"  said  the  wretched  sur- 
vivor. 

"  Then  do  you  die  too,  and  be  d — d,"  answered  one 
of  the  players.  "  and  then  there  will  be  a  pair  of  you,  as 
Pugg  says." 

"  1  tell  you  he  is  growing  stiff  and  cold,"  said  the  poor 
wretch — "  the  dead  is  no  bedfellow  for  the  living.  For 
God's  sake,  help  to  rid  me  of  the  corpse." 

"  Ay,  and  get  the  credit  of  having  done  him — as  may 
be  the  case  with  yourself,  friend — for  he  had  some  two 
or  three  hoggs  about  him " 

"  You  know  you  took  the  last  rap  from  his  breeches 
pocket  not  an  hour  ago,"  expostulated  the  poor  conval- 
escent— "  But  help  me  to  take  the  body  out  of  the  bed, 
and  1  will  not  tell  the  jigger-dulber  that  you  have  been 
beforehand  with  him." 

"  You  tell  the  jiggcr-dubber  /"  answered  the  cribbage 
player.  "  Such  another  word,  and  I  will  twist  your  head 
round  till  your  eyes  look  at  the  drummer's  handwriting 
on  your  back.  Hold  your  peace,  and  don't  bother  our 
game  with  your  gammon,  or  J  will  make  you  as  mute  aa 
yo  ir  bedfellow." 


94 


CHRONICLES    OF 


The  unhappy  wretch,  exhausted,  sunk  back  beside  his 
hideous  companion,  and  the  usual  jargon  of  the  game, 
nterlarded  with  execrations,  went  on  as  before. 

From  this  specimen  of  the  most  obdurate  indifference, 
contrasted  with  the  last  excess  of  misery,  Middlemas 
became  satisfied  how  little  could  be  made  of  an  appeal  to 
die  humanity  of  his  fellow-sufferers.  His  heart  sunk 
within  him,  and  the  thoughts  of  the  happy  and  peaceful 
home,  which  he  might  have  called  his  own,  arose  before 
his  over-heated  fancy,  with  a  vividness  of  perception  thai 
bordered  upon  insanity.  He  saw  before  him  the  rivulet 
which  wanders  through  the  burgh-muir  of  Middlemas, 
where  he  had  so  often  set  little  mills  for  the  amusement  of 
Menie  while  she  was  a  child.  One  draught  of  it  would 

O 

have  been  worth  all  the  diamonds  of  the  Cast,  which  of 
late  he  had  worshipped  with  such  devotion  ;  but  that 
draught  was  denied  to  him  as  to  Tantalus. 

Rallying  his  senses  from  this  passing  illusion,  and  know- 
ing enough  of  the  practice  of  the  medical  art,  to  be  aware 
of  the  necessity  of  preventing  his  ideas  from  wandering 
if  possible,  he  endeavoured  to  recollect  that  he  was  a 
surgeon,  and,  after  all,  should  not  have  the  extreme  fear 
for  the  interior  of  a  military  hospital,  which  its  horrors 
might  inspire  into  strangers  to  the  profession.  But  though 
he  strove,  by  such  recollections,  to  rally  his  spirits,  he 
was  not  the  less  aware  of  the  difference  betwixt  the  con- 
dition of  a  surgeon,  who  might  have  attended  such  a  place 
in  the  course  of  his  duty,  and  a  poor  inhabitant,  who  was 
at  once  a  patient  and  a  prisoner. 

A  footstep  was  now  heard  in  the  apartment,  which  seem- 
ed to  silence  all  the  varied  sounds  of  woe  that  filled  it. 
The  cribbage  party  hid  their  cards,  and  ceased  their 
oaths  ;  other  wretches,  whose  complaints  had  arisen  to 
frenzy,  left  off  their  wild  exclamations  and  entreaties  for 
assistance.  Agony  softened  her  shriek,  Insanity  hushed 
its  senseless  clamours,  and  even  Death  seemed  desirous 
to  stifle  his  p.irling  groan  in  the  presence  of  Captain  See- 
lencooper.  This  official  was  the  superintendent,  or,  as 
the  miserabl-"  inhabitants  termed  him.  tne  Governor  of  ihe 


THE    CANONGATE. 

Hospital.  He  had  all  the  air  of  having  been  originally  a 
turnkey  in  some  ill-regulated  jail — a  stout,  short,  bandy- 
legged man,  with  one  eye,  and  a  double  portion  of  fe- 
rocity in  that  which  remained.  He  wore  an  old-fashioned 
tarnished  uniform,  which  did  not  seem  to  have  been  made 
for  him  ;  and  the  voice  in  which  this  minister  of  human- 
ity addressed  the  sick,  was  that  of  a  boatswain,  shouting 
in  the  rnidst  of  a  storm.  He  had  pistols  and  a  cutlass  in 
his  belt ;  for  his  mode  of  administration  being  such  as  pro- 
voked even  hospital  patients  to  revolt,  his  life  had  been 
more  than  once  in  danger  amongst  them.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  two  assistants,  who  carried  handcuffs  and  strait- 
jackets. 

As  Seelenc.ooper  made  his  rounds,  complaint  and  pain 
were  hushed,  and  the  flourish  of  the  bamboo,  which  he 
bore  in  his  hand,  seemed  powerful  as  the  wand  of  a  ma- 
gician to  silence  all  complaint  and  remonstrance. 

"  I  tell  you  the  meat  is  as  sweet  as  a  nosegay — and 
for  the  bread,  it's  good  enough,  and  too  good,  for  a  set 
of  lubbers,  that  lie  shamming  Abraham,  and  consuming 
the  Right  Honourable  Company's  victuals — I  don't  speak 
to  them  that  are  really  sick,  for  God  knows  J  am  always 
for  humanity." 

"  If  that  be  the  case,  sir,"  said  Richard  Middlernas, 
whose  lair  the  Captain  had  approached,  while  he  was  thus 
answering  the  low  and  humble  complaints  of  those  by 
whose  bed-side  he  passed — "  if  that  be  the  case,  sir,  I 
hope  your  humanity  will  make  you  attend  to  what  I  say." 

"  And  who  the  devil  are  you  ?"  said  the  governor 
turning  on  him  his  single  eye  of  fire,  while  a  sneer  gath- 
ered on  his  harsh  features,  which  were  so  well  qualified 
to  express  it. 

"  My  name  is  Middlernas — I  come  from  Scotland,  and 
have  been  sent  here  by  some  strange  mistake.  I  am 
neither  a  private  soldier,  nor  am  I  indisposed,  more  than 
by  the  heat  of  this  cursed  place." 

"  Why  then,  friend,  all  1  have  to  ask  you  is,  whether 
you  are  an  attested  recruit  or  not  9" 


aO  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  I  was  attested  at  Edinburgh,"  said  Middlemas, 
•  hut " 

"  But  what  the  devil  would  you  have,  then  9 — you  are 
enlisted — the  Captain  and  the  Doctor  sent  you  here — 
surely  they  know  best  whether  you  are  private  or  officer, 
sick  or  well." 

"  But  I  was  promised,"  said  Middlemas,  "  promised 
by  Tom  Hillary " 

"  Promised,  were  you  9  Why,  there  is  not  a  man 
here  that  has  not  been  promised  something  by  somebody 
or  another,  or  perhaps  has  promised  something  to  himself. 
This  is  the  land  of  promise,  my  smart  fellow,  but  you 
know  it  is  India  that  must  be  the  land  of  performance. 
So  good  morning  to  you.  The  Doctor  will  come  his 
rounds  presently,  and  put  you  all  to  rights." 

"  Stay  but  one  moment — one  moment  only — I  have 
been  robbed." 

"  Robbed  !  look  you  there  now,"  said  the  Governor 
— "  every  body  that  comes  here  has  been  robbed. — 
Egad,  I  am  the  luckiest  fellow  in  Europe — other  people 
in  my  line  have  only  thieves  and  blackguards  upon  their 
hands  ;  but  none  come  to  my  ken  but  honest,  decent, 
unfortunate  gentlemen,  that  have  been  robbed  !" 

"  Take  care  how  you  treat  this  so  lightly,  sir,"  said 
Middlemas  ;  "  I  have  been  robbed  of  a  thousand  pounds." 

Here  Governor  Seelencooper's  gravity  was  totally 
overcome,  and  his  laugh  was  echoed  by  several  of  the 
patients,  either  because  they  wished  to  curry  favour  with 
the  superintendent,  or  from  the  feeling  which  influences 
evil  spirits  to  rejoice  in  the  tortures  of  those  who  are  sent 
to  share  their  agony. 

"  A  thousand  pounds  !"  exclaimed  Captain  Seelen- 
cooper,  as  he  recovered  his  breath, — "  Come,  that's  a 
good  one — I  like  a  fellow  that  does  not  make  two  bites  of 
a  cherry — why,  there  is  not  a  cull  in  the  ken  that  pre- 
tends to  have  lost  more  than  a  few  hoggs,  and  here  is  a 
servant  to  the  Honourable  Company  that  has  been  robbed 
of  a  thousand  pounds  !  Well  done,  Mr.  Tom  of  Ten 


Tllli    CAflOKGATJi 

Thousand — you're  a  credit  to  the  house,  and  to  the  ser- 
vice, and  so  good  morning  to  you." 

He  passed  on,  and  Richard,  starting  up  in  a  storm  of 
anger  and  despair,  found,  as  he  would  have  called  after 
him,  that  his  voice,  betwixt  thirst  and  agitation,  refused 
its  office.  "  Water,  water  !"  he  said,  laying  hold,  at  the 
same  time,  of  one  of  the  assistants  who  followed  Seelen- 
cooper  by  the  sleeve.  The  fellow  looked  carelessly 
round  ;  there  was  a  jug  stood  by  the  side  of  the  cribbage 
players,  which  he  readied  to  Middlemas,  bidding  him, 
"  Drink  and  be  d d." 

The  man's  back  was  no  sooner  turned,  than  the  game- 
ster threw  himself  from  his  own  bed  into  that  of  Middle- 
mas, and  grasping  firm  hold  of  the  arm  of  Richard,  ere  he 
could  carry  the  vessel  to  his  head,  swore  he  should  not 
have  his  booze.  It  may  be  readily  conjectured,  that  the 
pitcher  thus  anxiously  and  desperately  reclaimed,  con- 
tained something  better  than  the  pure  element.  In  fact, 
a  large  proportion  of  it  was  gin.  The  jug  was  broken  in 
the  struggle,  and  the  liquor  spilt.  Middlemas  dealt  a 
blow  to  the  assailant,  which  was  amply  and  heartily  repaid, 
and  a  combat  would  have  ensued,  but  for  the  interference 
of  the  superintendent  and  his  assistants,  who,  with  a  dex- 
terity that  showed  them  well  acquainted  with  such  emer- 
gencies, clapped  a  strait  waistcoat  upon  each  of  the 
antagonists.  Richard's  efforts  at  remonstrance  only  pro- 
cured him  a  blow  from  Captain  Seelencooper's  rattan, 
and  a  tender  admonition  to  hold  his  tongue,  if  he  valued 
a  whole  skin. 

Irritated  at  once  by  sufferings  of  the  rnind  and  of  the 
body,  tormented  by  raging  thirst,  and  by  the  sense  of  his 
own  dreadful  s  tuation,  the  mind  of  Richard  Middlemas 
seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  becoming  unsettled.  He 
felt  an  insane  desire  to  imitate  and  reply  to  the  groans, 
oaths,  and  ribaldry,  which,  as  soon  as  the  superintendent 
quitted  the  hospital,  echoed  around  him.  He  longed, 
though  he  struggled  against  the  impulse,  to  vie  in  curses 
with  the  reprobate,  and  in  screams  with  the  maniac.  But 

VOL.    II. 


98  CHRONICLES    OF 

his  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  his  moutii 
itself  oeemed  choked  with  ashes ;  there  came  upon  him 
a  dimness  of  sight,  a  rushing  sound  in  his  ears,  and  the 
powers  of  life  were  for  a  time  suspended. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  wise  physician,  skill'd  our  wounds  to  heal, 
Is  more  than  armies  to  the  common  weal. 

POPE'S  Homer. 

As  JMiddlemas  returned  to  his  senses,  he  was  sensible 
that  his  blood  felt  more  cool  ;  that  the  feverish  throb  of 
his  pulsation  was  diminished  :  that  the  ligatures  on  his 
person  were  removed,  and  his  lungs  performed  their 
functions  more  freely.  One  assistant  was  binding  up  a 
vein,  from  which  a  considerable  quantity  of  blood  had 
been  taken  ;  another,  who  had  just  washed  the  face  of 
the  patient,  was  holding  aromatic  vinegar  to  his  nostrils. 
As  he  began  to  open  his  eyes,  the  person  who  had  just 
completed  the  bandage,  said  in  Latin,  but  in  a  very  low 
tone,  and  without  raising  his  head,  "  Annon  sis  Ricardus 
ille  Middlemas,  ex  civitate  Middlemassiense  *?  Responde 
in  lingua  Latina." 

"  Sum  ille  miserrimus,"  replied  Richard,  again  shut- 
ting his  eyes  ;  for  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  voice  of 
his  comrade  Adam  Hartley,  though  his  presence  might  be 
of  so  much  consequence  in  this  emergency,  conveyed  a 
pans,  to  his  wounded  pride.  He  was  conscious  of  un- 
kindly, if  not  hostile,  feelings  towards  his  old  companion  ; 
he  remembered  the  tone  of  superiority  which  he  used  to 
assume  over  him.  and  thus  to  lie  stretched  at  his  feet,  and 
in  a  manner  at  his  mercy,  aggravated  his  distress,  by  the 
feelings  of  the  dying  chieftain,  "  Earl  Percy  sees  rnv 
fall.'"  This  was,  however,  too  unreasonable  an  emotion 


THE    CANONGATE.  99 

to  subsist  above  a  minute.  In  the  next,  lie  availed  him- 
self of  the  Latin  language,  with  which  both  were  famil- 
iar, (for  in  that  time  the  medical  studies  at  the  celebrated 
University  $f  Edinburgh  were,  in  a  great  measure,  con- 
ducted in  Latin,)  to  tell  in  a  few  words  his  own  folly,  and 
the  villany  of  Hillary." 

"  1  must  be  gone  instantly,"  said  Hartley — "  Take 
courage — 1  trust  to  be  able  to  assist  you.  Jn  the  mean- 
time, take  food  and  physic  from  none  but  my  servant,  who 
you  see  holds  the  sponge  in  his  hand.  You  are  in  a 
place  where  a  man's  life  has  been  taken  for  the  sake  of  his 
gold  sleeve-buttons." 

"  Stay  yet  a  moment,"  said  Middlemas — "  Let  me 
remove  this  temptation  from  my  dangerous  neighbours." 

He  drew  a  small  packet  from  his  under  waistcoat,  and 
put  it  into  Hartley's  hands. 

"  If  I  die,"  he  said,  "  be  my  heir.  You  deserve  her 
better  than  I." 

All  answer  was  prevented  by  the  hoarse  voice  of  See- 
lencooper. 

"  Well,  Doctor,  will  you  carry  through  your  patient  ?" 

"  Symptoms  are  dubious  yet,"  said  the  Doctor — 
"  That  was  an  alarming  swoon.  You  must  have  him  car- 
ried into  the  private  ward,  and  my  young  man  shall  at- 
tend him  " 

"  Why,  if  you  command  it,  Doctor,  needs  must ; — but 
I  can  tell  you  there  is  a  man  we  both  know,  that  has  a 
thousand  reasons  at  least  for  keeping  him  in  the  public 
ward." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  your  thousand  reasons,"  said 
Hartley  ;  "  I  can  only  tell  you  that  this  young  fellow  is 
as  well-limbed  and  likely  a  lad  as  the  Company  have 
among  their  recruits.  It  is  my  business  to  save  him  for 
iheir  service,  and  if  he  dies  by  your  neglecting  what  i 
direct,  depend  upon  it  I  will  not  allow  the  blame  to  lie  tit 
my  door.  1  will  tell  the  General  the  charge  I  have  given 
you." 

"  The  General !"  said  Seelencooper,  much  embarrass- 
ed— "Tell  the  General1} — ay,  about  his  health.  But 


»00  CHRONICLES    OF 

rou  will  not  say  anything  about  what  he  may  have  said 
in  his  light-headed  fits'?  My  eyes  !  if  you  listen  to  what 
feverish  patients  say  when  the  tantivy  is  in  their  brain, 
your  back  will  soon  break  with  tale-bearing,  for  I  will 
warrant  you  plenty  of  them  to  carry." 

"  Capliin  Seelencooper,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  do  not 
meddle  with  your  department  in  the  hospital  :  My  advice 
to  you  is,  not  to  trouble  yourself  with  mine.  I  suppose, 
as  J  have  a  commission  in  the  service,  and  have  besides  a 
regular  diploma  as  a  physician,  1  know  when  my  patient 
is  light-headed  or  otherwise.  So  do  you  let  the  man  be 
carefully  looked  after,  at  your  peril." 

Thus  saying,  he  left  the  hospital,  but  not  till,  under 
pretext  of  again  consulting  the  pulse,  he  pressed  the  pa- 
tient's hand,  as  if  to  assure  him  once  more  of  his  exertions 
for  his  liberation. 

"  My  eyes  !"  muttered  Seelencooper,  "  this  cockerel 
crows  gallant,  to  come  from  a  Scotch  roost ;  but  I  would 
know  well  enough  how  to  fetch  the  youngster  offthe  perch, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  cure  he  has  done  on  the  General's 
pickaninies." 

Enough  of  this  fell  on  Richard's  ear  to  suggest  hopes 
of  deliverance,  which  were  increased  when  he  was  shortly 
afterwards  removed  to  a  separate  ward,  a  place  much 
more  decent  in  appearance,  and  inhabited  only  by  two 
patients,  who  seemed  petty  officers.  Although  sensible 
that  he  had  no  illness,  save  that  weakness  which  succeeds 
violent  agitation,  he  deemed  it  wisest  to  suffer  himself  still 
to  be  treated  as  a  patient,  in  consideration  that  he  should 
thus  remain  under  his  comrade's  superintendence.  Yet 
while  preparing  to  avail  himself  of  Hartley's  good  offices, 
the  prevailing  reflection  of  his  secret  bosom  was  the  un- 
grateful sentiment,  "  Had  Heaven  no  other  means  of  sav- 
ing me  than  by  the  hands  of  him  I  like  least  on  the  face 
ol  the  earth  "?" 

Meanwhile,  ignorant  of  the  ungrateful  sentiments  of  his 
comrade,  and  indeed  wholly  indifferent  how  he  felt  to- 
wards him,  Hartley  proceeded  in  doing  him  such  service 
as  was  in  his  power,  without  any  other  object  than  the 


THE    CANONGATE.  101 

discharge  of  his  own  duty  as  a  man  and  as  a  Christian. 
The  manner  in  which  he  became  qualified  to  render  his 
comrade  assistance,  requires  some  short  explanation. 

Our  story  look  place  at  a  period,  when  the  Directors 
of  the  East  India  Company,  with  that  hardy  and  perse- 
vering policy  which  has  raised  to  such  a  height  the  British 
Empire  in  the  East,  had  determined  to  send  a  large  rein- 
forcement of  European  troops  to  the  support  of  their 
power  in  India,  then  threatened  by  the  kingdom  of  My- 
sore, of  which  the  celebrated  Hyder  Ally  had  usurped  the 
government,  after  dethroning  his  master.  Considerable 
difficulty  was  found  in  obtaining  recruits  for  that  service. 
Those  who  might  have  been  otherwise  disposed  to  be 
soldiers,  were  afraid  of  the  climate,  and  of  the  species  of 
banishment  which  the  engagement  implied  ;  and  doubted 
also  how  far  the  engagements  of  the  Company  might  be 
faithfully  observed  towards  them,  when  they  were  remov- 
ed from  the  protection  of  the  British  laws.  For  these 
and  other  reasons,  the  military  service  of  the  King  was 
preferred,  and  that  of  the  Company  could  only  procure 
the  worst  recruits,  although  their  zealous  agents  scrupled 
not  to  employ  the  worst  means.  Indeed  the  practice  of 
kidnapping,  or  crimping,  as  it  is  technically  called,  was  at 
that  time  general,  whether  for  the  colonies,  or  even  for 
the  King's  troops  ;  and  as  the  agents  employed  iji  such 
transactions  must  be  of  course  entirely  unscrupulous,  there 
was  not  only  much  villany  committed  in  the  direct  prose- 
cution of  the  trade,  but  it  gave  rise  incidentally  to  remark- 
able cases  of  robbery,  and  even  murder.  Such  atrocities 
were  of  course  concealed  from  the  authorities  for  whom 
the  levies  were  made,  and  the  necessity  of  obtaining  sol- 
diers made  men,  whose  conduct  was  otherwise  unexcep- 
tionable, cold  in  looking  closely  into  the  mode  in  which 
their  recruiting  service  was  conducted. 

The  principal  depot  of  the  troops  which  were  by  these 
means  assembled,  was  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  the  sea- 
Bon  proving  unhealthy,  and  the  men  themselves  being 
many  of  them  of  a  bad  habit  of  body,  a  fever  cf  a  inalig- 
544 


102 


CHRONICLES    OF 


riant  character  broke  out  amongst  them,  and  speedily 
crowded  with  patients  the  military  hospital,  of  which  Mr 
Seelencooper,  himself  an  old  and  experienced  crimp  and 
kidnapper,  had  obtained  the  superintendence.  Irregular- 
ities began  to  take  place  also  among  the  soldiers  who  re- 
mained healthy,  and  the  necessity  of  subjecting  them  to 
some  discipline  before  they  sailed  was  so  evident,  that 
several  officers  of  the  Company's  naval  service  expressed 
their  belief  that  otherwise  there  would  be  dangerous  mu- 

O 

tinies  on  the  passage. 

To  remedy  the  first  of  these  evils,  the  Court  of  Direc- 
tors sent  down  to  the  island  several  of  their  medical  ser- 
vants, amongst  whom  was  Hartley,  whose  qualifications 
had  been  amply  certified  by  a  medical  board,  before  which 
he  had  passed  an  examination,  besides  his  possessing  a 
diploma  from  the  University  of  Edinburgh  as  M.  D. 

To  enforce  the  discipline  of  their  soldiers,  the  Court 
committed  full  power  to  one  of  their  own  body,  General 
Wrtberineton.  The  General  was  an  officer  who  had  dis- 

O 

tinguished  himself  highly  in  their  service.  He  had  re- 
turned from  India  five  or  six  years  before,  with  a  large 
fortune,  which  he  had  rendered  much  greater  by  an  ad- 
vantageous marriage  with  a  rich  heiress.  The  General 
and  his  lady  went  little  into  society,  but  seemed  to  live 
entirely  for  their  infant  family,  those  in  number  being 
three,  two  boys  and  a  girl.  Although  he  had  retired  from 
the  service,  he  willingly  undertook  the  temporary  charge 
committed  to  him,  and  taking  a  house  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  town  of  Ryde,  he  proceeded  to  enroll 
the  troops  into  separate  bodies,  appoint  officers  of  capacity 
to  each,  and  by  regular  training  and  discipline,  gradually 
to  bring  them  into  something  resembling  good  order.  He 
heard  their  complaints  of  ill  usage  in  the  articles  of  pro- 
visions and  appointments,  and  did  them  upon  all  occasions 
the  strictest  justice,  save  that  he  was  never  known  to  re- 
store one  recruit  to  his  freedom  from  the  service,  however 
unfairly  or  even  illegally  his  attestation  might  have  been 
obtained. 


THE    CANON GATE  103 

"  It  is  none  of  my  business,"  said  General  \Vthering- 
ton,  "  how  you  became  soldiers — soldiers  1  found  you, 
and  soldiers  I  will  leave  you.  But  I  will  take  especial 
care,  that  as  soldiers  you  shall  have  every  thing,  to  a  penny 
or  a  pin's  head,  that  you  are  justly  entitled  to."  He  went 
to  work  without  fear  or  favour,  reported  many  abuses  to 
the  Board  of  Directors,  had  several  officers,  commissa- 
ries, &tc.  removed  from  the  service,  and  made  his  name 
as  great  a  terror  to  the  peculators  at  home,  as  it  had  been 
to  the  enemies  of  Britain  in  Hindostan. 

Captain  Seelencooper,  and  his  associates  in  the  Hospi- 
tal department,  heard  and  trembled,  fearing  that  their  turn 
should  come  next ;  but  the  General,  who  elsewhere  ex- 
amined all  with  his  own  eyes,  showed  a  reluctance  to  visit 
the  Hospital  in  person.  Public  report  industriously  im- 
puted this  to  fear  of  infection.  Such  was  certainly  the 
motive  ;  though  it  was  not  fear  for  his  own  safety  that  in- 
fluenced General  Witherington,  but  he  dreaded  lest  he 
should  carry  the  infection  home  to  the  nursery,  on  which 
he  doated.  The  alarm  of  his  lady  was  yet  more  unrea- 
sonably sensitive  ;  she  would  scarcely  suffer  the  children 
to  walk  abroad,  if  the  wind  but  blew  from  the  quarter 
where  the  Hospital  was  situated. 

But  Providence  baffles  the  precautions  of  mortals.  In 
a  walk  across  the  fields,  chosen  as  the  most  sheltered  and 
sequestered,  the  children,  with  their  train  of  Eastern  and 
European  attendants,  met  a  woman  who  carried  a  child 
that  was  recovering  from  the  small-pox.  The  anxiety  of 
the  father,  joined  to  some  religious  scruples  on  the  moth- 
er's part,  had  postponed  inoculation,  which  was  then 
scarcely  come  into  general  use.  The  infection  caught 
like  a  quickinatch,  and  ran  like  wildfire  through  all  those 
in  the  family  who  had  not  previously  had  the  disease. 
One  of  the  General's  children,  the  second  boy,  died,  and 
two  of  the  Ayas,  or  black  female  servants,  had  the  same 
fate.  The  hearts  of  the  father  and  mother  would  have 
been  broken  for  the  child  they  had  lo?t,  had  not  their 
grief  been  suspended  by  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  those  who 
lived,  and  who  were  confessed  to  be  in  imminent  danger 


104  CHRONICLES    OF 

They  were  like  persons  distracted,  as  the  symptoms  of 
the  poor  patients  seemed  gradually  to  resemble  more 
nearly  that  of  the  child  already  lost. 

While  the  parents  were  in  this  agony  of  apprehension, 
the  General's  principal  servant,  a  native  of  Northumber- 
land like  himself,  informed  him  one  morning  that  there 
was  a  young  man  from  the  same  county  among  the  Hos- 
pital doctors,  who  had  publicly  blamed  the  mode  of  treat- 
ment observed  towards  the  patients,  and  spoken  of  another 
which  he  had  seen  practised  with  eminent  success. 

"  Some  impudent  quack,"  said  the  General,  "  who 
would  force  himself  into  business  by  .bold  assertions. 
Doctor  Tourniquet  and  Doctor  Lancelot  are  men  of  high 
reputation." 

"  Do  not  mention  their  reputation,"  said  the  mother, 
with  a  mother's  impatience  ;  "  did  they  not  let  my  sweet 
Reuben  die  ?  What  avails  the  reputation  of  the  physician, 
when  the  patient  perisheth  9" 

"  If  his  honour  would  but  see  Doctor  Hartley,"  said 
Winter,  turning  half  towards  the  lady,  and  then  turning 
back  again  to  his  master.  "  He  is  a  very  decent  young 
man,  who,  I  am  sure,  never  expected  what  he  said  to  reach 
your  honour's  ears  ; — and  he  is  a  native  of  Northumber- 
land." 

"  Send  a  servant  with  a  led  horse,"  said  the  General  ; 
"  let  the  young  man  come  hither  instantly." 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  ancient  mode  of  treating  the 
small-pox  was  to  refuse  to  the  patient  everything  which 
Nature  urged  him  to  desire  ;  and,  in  particular,  to  con- 
fine him  to  heated  rooms,  beds  loaded  with  blankets,  and 
spiced  wine,  when  nature  called  for  cold  water  and  fresh 
air.  A  different  mode  of  treatment  had  of  late  been  ad- 
ventured upon  by  some  practitioners,  who  preferred  rea- 
son to  authority,  and  Gideon  Gray  had  followed  it  for 
several  years  with  extraordinary  success. 

When  General  Witherington  saw  Hartley,  he  was  start- 
led at  his  youth  ;  but  when  he  heard  him  modestly,  but 
with  confidence,  state  the  difference  of  the  two  modes  of 
treatment,  and  the  rationale  of  his  practice,  he  listened 


THE    CANONGATE.  105 

with  the  most  serious  attention.  So  did  his  lady,  hei 
streaming  eyes  turning  frcm  Hartley  to  her  husband,  as  i 
to  watch  what  impression  the  arguments  of  the  forme; 
were  making  upon  the  latter.  General  Witherington  was 
silent  for  a  few  minutes  after  Hartley  had  finished  his 
exposition,  and  seemed  buried  in  profound  reflection 
"  To  treat  a  fever,"  he  said,  "  in  a  manner  which  tends 
to  produce  one,  seems  indeed  to  be  adding  fuel  to  fire." 

"  It  is — it  is,"  said  the  lady.  "  Let  us  trust  this  young 
man,  General  Witherington.  We  shall  at  least  give  our 
darlings  the  comforts  of  the  fresh  air  and  cold  water,  for 
which  they  are  pining." 

But  the  General  remained  undecided.  "  Your  reason- 
ing," he  said  to  Hartley,  "  seems  plausible ;  but  still  it  is 
only  hypothesis.  What  can  you  show  to  support  your 
theory,  in  opposition  to  the  general  practice  9" 

"  My  own  observation,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  Here 
is  a  memorandum-book  of  medical  cases  which  I  have 
witnessed,  ft  contains  twenty  cases  of  small-pox,  of  which 
eighteen  were  recoveries." 

"And  the  two  others'?"  said  the  General. 

"  Terminated  fatally,"  replied  Hartley  :  "  we  can  as 
yet  but  partially  disarm  this  scourge  of  the  human  race." 

"  Young  man,"  continued  the  General,  "  were  I  to  say 
that  a  thousand  gold  rnohrs  were  yours  in  case  my  chil- 
dren live  under  your  treatment,  what  have  you  to  peril  in 
exchange  *?" 

"  My  reputation,"  answered  Hartley,  firmly. 

"  And  you  could  warrant  on  your  reputation  the  recov- 
ery of  your  patients?" 

"  God  forbid  I  should  be  so  presumptuous!  But  I  think 
I  could  warrant  my  using  those  means,  which,  with  God's 
b.es?ing,  afford  the  fairest  chance  of  a  favourable  result." 

"  Enough — you  are  modest  and  sensible,  as  well  as 
oold  and  1  will  trust  you." 

The  lady,  on  whom  Hartley's  words  and  manner  had 
made  a  great  impression,  and  who  WAS  eager  to  discon- 
tinue a  mode  of  treatment  which  subjected  the  patients  to 
ihe  greatest  pain  and  privation,  and  had  already  proved 


106  CHRONICLES    OF 

unfortunate,  eagerl)  acquiesced,  and  Hartley  was'  placed 
in  full  authority  in  the  sick  room. 

Windows  were  thrown  open,  fires  reduced  or  discon- 
tinued, loads  of  bed-clothes  removed,  cooling  drinks  su- 
perseded mulled  wine  and  spices.  The  sick-nurses  cried 
out  murder.  Doctors  Tourniquet  and  Lancelot  retired  in 
disgust,  menacing  something  like  a  general  pestilence,  in 
vengeance  of  what  they  termed  rebellion  against  the  neg- 
lect of  the  aphorisms  of  Hippocrates.  Hartley  proceeded 
quietly  and  steadily,  and  the  patients  got  into  a  fair  road 
of  recovery. 

The  young  Northumbrian  was  neither  conceited  nor 
artlul  ;  yet,  with  all  his  plainness  of  character,  he  could 
not  but  know  the  influence  which  a  successful  physician 
obtains  over  the  parents  of  the  children  whom  he  has  saved 
from  the  grave,  and  especially  before  the  cure  is  actually 
completed.  He  resolved  to  use  this  influence  in  behalf 
of  his  old  companion,  trusting  that  the  military  tenacity  of 
General  Witherington  would  give  way,  in  consideration 
of  the  obligation  so  lately  conferred  upon  him. 

On  his  way  to  the  General's  house,  which  was  at  pres- 
ent his  constant  place  of  residence,  he  examined  the 
packet  which  Middlemas  had  put  into  his  hand.  It  con- 
tained the  picture  of  Menie  Gray,  plainly  set,  and  the  ring, 
with  brilliants,  which  Doctor  Gray  had  given  to  Richard, 
as  his  mother's  last  gift.  The  first  of  these  tokens  ex- 
tracted from  honest  Hartley  a  sigh,  perhaps  a  tear  of  sad 
remembrance.  "  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  she  has  not  chosen 
worthily  ;  but  she  shall  be  happy,  if  I  can  make  her  so." 

Arrived  at  the  residence  of  General  Witherington,  our 
Doctor  went  first  to  the  sick  apartment,  and  then  carried 
to  their  parents  the  delightful  account  that  the  recovery 
of  the  children  might  be  considered  as  certain.  "  May 
the  God  of  Israel  bless  thee,  young  man  !"  said  the  lady, 
trembling  with  emotion  ;  "  thou  hast  wiped  the  tear  fron: 
the  eye  of  the  despairing  mother.  And  yet — alas!  alas' 
still  it  must  flow  when  I  think  of  my  cherub  Reuben.  Oh 
Mr.  Hartley,  why  did  we  not  know  you  a  week  sooner? 
--my  darling  had  not  the-  died." 


THE    CANONGATE.  107 

•*  God  gives  and  takes  away,  my  lady,''  answered  Hart- 
ley ;  "  and  you  must  remember  that  two  are  restored  tc 
you  out  of  three.  It  is  far  from  certain,  that  the  treat- 
ment I  have  used  towards  the  convalescents  would  have 
brought  through  their  brother ;  for  the  case,  as  reported 
to  me,  was  of  a  very  inveterate  description  " 

"Doctor,"  said  Witherington,  his  voice  testifying  more 
emotion  than  he  usually  or  willingly  gave  way  to,  "  you 
can  comfort  the  sick  in  spirit,  as  well  as  the  sick  in  body. 
— But  it  is  time  we  settle  our  wager.  You  betted  your 
reputation,  which  remains  with  you,  increased  by  all  the 
credit  due  to  your  eminent  success,  against  a  thousand 
gold  mohrs,  the  value  of  which  you  will  find  in  that  pock- 
et-book." 

"  General  Witherington,"  said  Hartley,  "  you  are 
wealthy,  and  entitled  to  be  generous — I  am  poor,  an<u  not 
entitled  to  decline  whatever  may  be,  even  in  a  liberal 
sense,  a  compensation  for  my  professional  attendance. 
But  there  is  a  bound  to  extravagance,  both  in-  giving  and 
accepting;  and  I  must  not  hazard  the  newly  acquired  rep- 
utation with  which  you  flatter  me,  by  giving  room  to  have 
it  said,  that  I  fleeced  the  parents,  when  their  feelings  were 
all  afloat  with  anxiety  for  their  children.  Allow  me  to 
divide  this  large  sum  ;  one  half  I  will  thankfully  retain, 
as  a  most  liberal  recompense  for  my  labour ;  and  if  you 
still  think  you  owe  me  anything,  let  me  have  it  in  the  ad- 
vantage of  your  good  opinion  and  countenance." 

"  If  I  acquiesce  in  your  proposal,  Doctor  Hartley," 
said  the  General,  reluctantly  receiving  back  a  part  of  the 
Contents  of  the  pocket-book,  "  it  is  because  I  hope  to  serve 
you  with  my  interest,  even  better  than  with  my  purse." 

"  And,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  Hartley,  "  it  was  upon 
your  interest  that  I  am  just  about  to  make  a  small  claim." 

The  General  and  his  lady  spoke  both  in  the  s?me 
breath,  to  assure  him  his  boon  was  granted  before  asked. 

"  1  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Hartley  ;  for  it  resp^ris 
a  point  on  which  I  have  heard  say,  that  your  Excc!5*nc) 
is  rather  inflexible — the  discharge  of  a  recruit." 


108 


CHRONICLES    OF 


"  My  duty  makes  me  so,"  replied  the  General — "  ifon 
know  the  sort  of  fellows  that  we  are  obliged  to  content 
ourselves  with — they  get  drunk — grow  pot-valiant — ei.list 
over  night,  and  repent  next  morning.  Jf  I  am  to  dismiss 
all  those  who  pretend  to  have  been  trepanned,  we  should 
have  few  volunteers  remain  behind.  Every  one  has  some 
idle  story  of  the  promises  of  a  swaggering  Sergeant 
Kite — It  is  impossible  to  attend  to  them. — But  let  me  hear 
yours,  however." 

"  JV'Jine  is  a  very  singular  case.  The  party  has  been 
robbed  of  a  thousand  pounds." 

"  A  recruit  for  this  service  possessing  a  thousand 
nounds  !  My  dear  Doctor,  depend  upon  it,  the  fellow  has 
gulled  you.  Bless  my  heart,  would  a  man  who  had  a 
thousand  pounds  think  of  enlisting  as  a  private  sentinel  ^'" 

"  He  had  no  such  thoughts,"  answered  Hartley.  "  H 
was  persuaded   by  the  rogue  whom  he  trusted,  that  he 
was  to  have  a  commission." 

"  Then  this  friend  must  have  been  Tom  Hillary,  or  the 
devil ;  for  no  other  could  possess  so  much  cunning  and 
impudence.  He  will  certainly  find  his  way  to  the  gal- 
lows at  last.  Still  this  story  of  the  thousand  pounds  seems 
a  touch  even  beyond  Tom  Hillary.  What  reason  have 
you  to  think  that  this  fellow  ever  had  such  a  sum  01 
money  ?" 

"  I  have  the  best  reason  to  know  it  for  certain,"  an- 
swered Hartley  ;  "  he  and  I  served  our  time  together 
under  the  same  excellent  master ;  and  when  he  came  ol 
age,  not  liking  the  profession  which  he  had  studied,  and 
obtaining  possession  of  his  little  fortune,  he  was  deceivea 
oy  the  promises  of  this  same  Hillary." 

"  Who  has  had  him  locked  up  in  our  well-ordered 
Hospital  yonder  *?"  said  the  General. 

"  Even  so,  please  your  Excellency,"  replied  Hartley; 
•'  not,  I  think,  to  cure  him  of  any  complaint,  but  to  give 
him  the  opportunity  of  catching  one,  whirh  would  silence 
all  inquiries." 

"  The  matter  shall  be  closely  looked  into.  But  how 
miserably  careless  the  young  man's  friends  must  have 


THE    CANONGATE.  109 

oein  to  let  a  raw  lad  go  into  the  world  with  such  a  com- 
panion and  guide  as  Tom  Hillary,  and  such  a  sum  as  a 
thousand  pounds  in  his  pocket.  His  parents  had  better 
have  knocked  him  on  the  head.  It  certainly  \vas  not  done 
like  canny  Northumberland,  as  my  servant  Winter  calls  it." 

"  The  youth  must  indeed  have  had  strangely  hard- 
hearted, or  careless  parents,"  said  Mrs.  Witherington,  in 
accents  of  pity. 

"  He  never  knew  them,  madam,"  said  Hartley  ;  "there 
was  a  mystery  on  the  score  of  his  birth.  A  cold,  unwil- 
ling, and  almost  unknown  hand,  dealt  him  out  his  portion 
when  he  came  of  lawful  age,  and  he  was  pushed  into  the 
world  like  a  bark  forced  from  shore,  without  rudder,  com- 
pass, or  pilot." 

Here  General  Witherington  involuntarily  looked  to  his 
lady,  while,  guided  by  a  similar  impulse,  her  looks  were 
turned  upon  him.  They  exchanged  a  momentary  glance 
of  deep  and  peculiar  meaning,  and  then  the  pyes  of  both 
were  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  Were  you  brought  up  in  Scotland  *?"  said  the  lady, 
addressing  herself,  in  a  faltering  voice,  to  Hartley — "  And 
what  was  your  master's  name  9" 

"  I  served  my  apprenticeship  with  Mr.  Gideon  Gray 
of  the  town  of  Middlemas,"  said  Hartley. 

"  Middlemas  !  Gray  !"  repeated  the  lady,  and  fainted 
away. 

Hartley  offered  the  succours  of  his  profession  ;  the  hus- 
band flew  to  support  her  head,  and  the  instant  that  Mrs. 
WMtherington  began  to  recover,  he  whispered  to  her,  in  a 
tone  betwixt  entreaty  and  warning,  "  Zilia,  beware — be- 
ware !" 

Some  imperfect  sounds  which  she  had  begun  to  frame, 
died  away  upon  her  tongue. 

"  Let  me  assist  you  to  your  dressing-roorn,  my  love," 
said  her  obviously  anxious  husband. 

She  aiose  with  the  action  of  an  automaton,  which  moves 
at  the  touch  of  a  spring,  and  hall  hanging  upon  her  hus- 
band, half  dragging  herself  on  by  her  own  efforts,  had 
16  VOL.  ii 


110  CHRONICLES    OF 

pearly  reached  the  door  of  the  room,  when  Hartley  fol- 
lowing, asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  service. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  General  sternly  ;  "  this  is  no  case 
for  a  stranger's  interference  ;  when  you  are  wanted  T  will 
send  for  you." 

Hartley  stepped  back,  on  receiving  a  rebuff  in  a  tone  so 
different  from  that  which  General  Witherington  had  used 
towards  him  in  their  previous  intercourse,  and  disposed, 
for  the  first  time,  to  give  credit  to  public  report,  which 
assigned  to  that  gentleman,  with  several  good  qualities, 
the  character  of  a  very  proud  and  haughty  man.  Hith- 
erto, he  thought,  I  have  seen  him  tamed  by  sorrow  and 
anxiety,  now  the  mind  is  regaining  its  natural  tension. 
But  he  must  in  decency  interest  himself  for  this  unhappy 
Middlemas. 

The  General  returned  into  the  apartment  a  minute  or 
two  afterwards,  and  addressed  Hartley  in  his  usual  tone 
of  politeness,  though  apparently  still  under  great  embar- 
rassment, which  he  in  vain  endeavoured  to  conceal. 

"  Mrs.  Witherington  is  better,"  he  said,  "  and  will  be 
glad  to  see  you  before  dinner.  You  dine  with  us,  1  hope  *?" 

Hartley  bowed. 

"  Mrs.  Witherington  is  rather  subject  to  this  sort  of 
nervous  fits,  and  she  has  been  much  harassed  of  late  by 
grief  and  apprehension.  When  she  recovers  from  them, 
it  is  a  few  minutes  before  she  can  collect  her  ideas,  and 
during  such  intervals — to  speak  very  confidentially  to  you, 
my  dear  Doctor  Hartley, — she  speaks  sometimes  about 
imaginary  events  which  have  never  happened,  and  some- 
times about  distressing  occurrences  in  an  early  period  of 
life.  I  am  not,  therefore,  willing  that  any  one  but  myself, 
or  her  old  attendant  Mrs.  Lopez,  should  be  with  her  on 
such  occasions." 

Hartley  admitted  that  a  certain  degree  of  light-head- 
ed ness  was  often  the  consequence  of  nervous  fits. 

The  General  proceeded.  "  As  to  this  young  man — 
this  friend  of  yours — this  Richard  Middlemas — did  you 
not  call  Lin  so*?" 


THE    CANONGATE.  Ill 

"  Not  that  I  recollect,"  answered  Hartley  ;  "  but  youi 
Lxcel.ency  has  hit  upon  his  name." 

"  That  is  odd  enough — Certainly  you  said  something 
about  Middlemas  9"  replied  General  Wilherington. 

"  ]  mentioned  the  name  of  the  town,"  said  Hartley. 

"  Ay,  and  I  caught  it  up  as  the  name  of  the  recruit — I 
was  indeed  occupied  at  the  moment  by  my  anxiety  about 
my  wife.  But  this  Middlemas,  since  such  is  his  name,  is 
a  wild  young  fellow,  I  suppose  9" 

"  1  should  do  him  wron-g  to  say  so,  your  Excellency. 
He  may  have  had  his  follies  like  other  young  men  ;  but 
his  conduct  has,  so  far  as  1  know,  been  respectable  ;  but 
considering  we  lived  in  the  same  house,  we  were  not  very 
intimate." 

"  That  is  bad — I  should  have  liked  him — that  is — it 
would  have  been  happy  for  him  to  have  had  a  friend  like 
you.  But  I  suppose  you  studied  too  hard  for  him.  He 
would  be  a  soldier,  ha  ? — Is  he  good-looking  9" 

"  Remarkably  so,"  replied  Hartley  j  "  and  has  a  very 
prepossessing  manner." 

"  Is  his  complexion  dark  or  fair  9"  asked  the  General. 

"  Rather  uncommonly  dark,"  said  Hartley, — "  darker, 
if  I  may  use  the'freedom,  than  your  Excellency's." 

"  Nay,  then  he  must  be  a  black  ouzel  indeed  ! — Does 
he  understand  languages'?" 

"  Latin  and  French  tolerably  well." 

"  Of  course  he  cannot  fence  or  dance  9" 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  am  no  great  judge  ;  but  Richard 
is  reckoned  to  do  both  with  uncommon  skill." 

"  Indeed  ! — Sum  this  up,  and  it  sounds  well.  Hand- 
some, accomplished  in  exercises,  moderately  learned, 
perfectly  well-bred,  not  unreasonably  wild.  All  this 
comes  too  high  for  the  situation  of  a  private  sei.tinel. 
He  must  have  a  commission,  Doctor — entirely  for  voui 
sake." 

"'  \our  Excellency  is  generous." 

"  It  shall  be  so  ;  and  I  will  find  means. to  make  Tom 
Hillary  disgorge  his  plunder,  unless  he  prefers  being  hang- 
ed, a  fate  he  has  long  deserved.  You  cannot  go  back  to 


H2  CHRONICLES    OF 

the  Hospital  to-day.  You  dine  with  us,  and  you  know 
Mrs.  Witherington's  fears  of  infection  ;  jut  to-morrow 
find  out  your  friend.  Winter  shall  see  him  equipped 
with  every  thing  needful.  Tom  Hillary  shall  repay  ad- 
vances, you  know  ;  and  he  must  be  off  with  the  first  de- 
tachment of  the  recruits,  in  the  Middlesex  Indiaman, 
which  sails  from  the  Downs  on  Monday  fortnight  ;  that 
is,  if  you  think  him  fit  for  the  voyage.  I  dare  say  the 
poor  fellow  is  sick  of  the  Isle  of  Wight." 

"  Your  Excellency  will  permit  the  young  man  to  pay 
his  respects  to  you  before  his  departure  T' 

"  To  what  purpose,  sir  *?"  said  the  General,  hastily  and 
peremptorily  ;  but  instantly  added,  "  You  are  right — 1 
should  like  to  see  him.  Winter  shall  let  him  know  the 
time,  and  take  horses  to  fetch  him  hither.  But  he  must 
have  been  out  of  the  Hospital  for  a  day  or  two  ;  so  the 
sooner  you  can  set  him  at  liberty  the  better.  In  the  mean- 
time, take  him  to  your  own  lodgings,  Doctor;  and  do  not 
let  him  form  any  intimacies  with  the  officers,  or  any  oth- 
ers, in  this  place,  where  he  may  light  on  another  Hillary." 

Had  Hartley  been  as  well  acquainted  as  the  reader 
with  the  circumstances  of  young  Middlemas's  birth,  he 
might  have  drawn  decisive  conclusions  from  the  behaviour 
of  General  Witherington,  while  his  comrade  was  the  topic 
of  conversation.  But  as  Mr.  Gray  and  Middlemas  him- 
self were  both  silent  on  the  subject,  he  knew  little  of  it 
but  from  general  report,  which  his  curiosity  had  never 
induced  him  to  scrutinize  minutely.  Neverthless,  what 
he  did  apprehend  interested  him  so  much,  that  he  resolved 
upon  trying  a  little  experiment,  in  which  he  thought  there 
could  be  no  great  harm.  He  placed  on  his  finger  the  re- 
markable ring  intrusted  to  his  care  by  Richard  Middle- 
mas, and  endeavoured  to  make  it  conspicuous  in  approach- 
ing Mrs.  Witherington  ;  taking  care,  however,  that  this 
occurred  during  her  husband's  absence.  Her  eyes  had 
•,io  sooner  caught  a  sight  of  the  gem,  than  they  became 
riveted  to  it,  and  she  begged  a  nearer  sight  of  it,  as  strong- 
ly resembling  one  which  she  had  given  to  a  friend.  Tak- 
ing the  ring  from  his  finger,  and  placing  it  in  her  ema- 


THE    CANOJVGATE.  1  I  3 

elated  hand,  Hartley  informed  her  it  was  the  property  of 
the  friend  in  whom  he  had  just  been  endeavouring  to  in- 
terest the  General.  Mrs.  Witherington  retired  in  great 
emotion,  but  next  day  summoned  Hartley  to  a  private  in- 
terview, the  particulars  of  which,  so  far  as  are  necessary 
to  be  known,  shall  be  afterwards  related. 

On  the  succeeding  day  after  these  important  discov- 
eries, Middlemas,  to  his  great  delight,  was  rescued  from  his 
seclusion  in  the  Hospital,  and  transferred  to  his  comrade's 
lodgings  in  the  town  of  Ryde,  of  which  Hartley  himself 
was  a  rare  inmate  ;  the  anxiety  of  Mrs.  Witherington  de- 
taining him  at  the  General's  house,  long  after  his  medical 
attendance  might  have  been  dispensed  with. 

Within  two  or  three  days  a  commission  arrived  for 
Richard  Middlemas,  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  service  of  the 
East  India  Company.  Winter,  by  his  master's  orders, 
put  the  wardrobe  of  the  young  officer  on  a  suitable  foot- 
ing ;  while  Middlemas,  enchanted  at  finding  himself  at 
once  emancipated  from  his  late  dreadful  difficulties,  and 
placed  under  the  protection  of  a  man  of  such  importance 
as  the  General,  obeyed  implicitly  the  hints  transmitted  to 
him  by  Hartley,  and  enforced  by  Winter,  and  abstained 
from  going  into  public,  or  forming  acquaintances  with  any 
one.  Even  Hartley  himself  he  saw  seldom  ;  and,  deep 
as  were  his  obligations,  he  did  not  perhaps  greatly  regret 
the  absence  of  one,  whose  presence  always  affected  him 
with  a  sense  of  humiliation  and  abasement. 

VOL.    II. 


CHRONICLES  OF 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  evening  before  he  was  to  sail  for  the  DOVVIB,  where 
the  Middlesex  lay  ready  to  weigh  anchor,  the  new  lieu- 
tenant was  summoned  by  Winter  to  attend  him  to  the 
General's  residence,  for  the  purpose  of  being  introduced 
to  his  patron,  to  thank  him  at  once,  and  to  bid  him  fare- 
well. On  the  road,  the  old  man  took  the  liberty  of  school- 
ing his  companion  concerning  the  respect  which  he  ought 
to  pay  to  his  master,  "  who  was,  though  a  kind  and  gen- 
erous man  as  ever  came  from  Northumberland,  extremely 
rigid  in  punctiliously  exacting  the  degree  of  honour  which 
was  his  due." 

While  they  were  advancing  towards  the  house,  the 
General  and  his  wife  expected  their  arrival  with  breathless 
anxiety.  They  were  seated  in  a  superb  drawing-room, 
the  General  behind  a  large  chandelier,  which,  shaded  op- 
posite to  his  face,  threw  all  the  light  to  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  so  that  he  could  observe  any  person  placed 
there,  without  becoming  the  subject  of  observation  in  turn. 
On  a  heap  of  cushions,  wrapped  in  a  glittering  drapery 
of  gold  and  silver  muslins,  mingled  with  shawls,  a  luxury 
which  was  then  a  novelty  in  Europe,  sat,  or  rather  reclin- 
ed, his  lady,  who,  past  the  full  meridian  of  beauty,  re- 
tained charms  enough  to  distinguish  her  as  one  who  had 
been  formerly  a  very  fine  woman,  though  her  mind 
seemed  occupied  by  the  deepest  emotion. 

"  Zilia,"  said  her  husband,  "  you  are  unable  for  what 
you  have  undertaken — take  my  advice — retire — you  shall 
know  all  and  every  thing  that  passes — but  retire.  To 
what  purpose  should  you  cling  to  the  idle  wish  of  behold- 
rig  for  a  moment  a  being  whom  you  can  never  again  look 
upon  ^" 


TIIE    CAMINGAT&.  1     5 

"  Alas  !"  answered  the  lady,  "  and  is  not  your  declar- 
ation, that  1  shall  never  see  him  more,  a  sufficient  reason 
that  I  should  wish  to  see  him  now — should  wish  to  im- 
print on  my  memory  the  features  and  the  form  which  I 
am  never  again  to  behold  while  we  are  in  the  body  *?  Do 
not,  my  Richard,  be  more  cruel  than  was  my  poor  father, 
even  when  his  wrath  was  in  its  bitterness.  He  let  me 
look  upon  rny  infant,  and  its  cherub  face  dwelt  with  me, 
and  was  my  comfort,  among  the  years  of  unutterable  sor- 
row in  which  my  youth  wore  away." 

"  It  is  enough,  Zilia — you  have  desired  this  boon — I 
have  granted  it — and,  at  whatever  risk,  my  promise  shall 
be  kept.  But  think  how  much  depends  on  this  fatal  se- 
cret— your  rank  and  estimation  in  society — my  honour 
interested  that  that  estimation  should  remain  uninjured. 
Zilia,  the  moment  that  the  promulgation  of  such  a  secret 
gives  prudes  and  scandal-mongers  a  right  to  treat  you  with 
scorn,  will  be  fraught  with  unutterable  misery,  perhaps 
with  bloodshed  and  death,  should  a  man  dare  to  take  up 
the  rumour." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  my  husband,"  answered  Zilia, 
"  in  all  that  the  frailness  of  nature  will  permit.  But  oh, 
God  of  my  fathers,  of  what  clay  hast  thou  fashioned  us, 
poor  mortals,  who  dread  so  much  the  shame  which  follows 
sin,  yet  repent  so  little  for  the  sin  itself  !"  In  a  minute 
afterwards  steps  were  heard — the  door  opened — Winter 
announced  Lieutenant  Middlemas,  and  the  unconscious 
son  stood  before  his  parents. 

Witherington  started  involuntarily  up,  but  immediately 
constrained  himself  to  assume  the  easy  deportment  with 
which  a  superior  receives  a  dependent,  and  which,  in  his 
own  case,  was  usually  mingled  with  a  certain  degree  of 
hauteur.  Thu  mot. ier  had  less  command  of  herself  She 
too  sprung  up,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  throwing  her- 
self on  the  neck  of  her  son,  for  whom  she  had  travailed 
and  sorrowed.  But  the  warning  glance  of  her  husband 
arrested  her,  as  if  by  magic,  and  she  remained  standing, 
with  her  beautiful  head  and  neck  somewhat  advanced, 
her  hands  clasped  together,  and  extended  forward  in  the 


1 16  CHRONICLES    OF 

attitude  of  motion,  but  motionless,  nevertheless,  as  a  mar- 
ble statue,  to  which  the  sculptor  has  given  all  the  appear- 
ance of  life,  but  cannot  impart  its  powers.  So  strange  a 
gesture  and  posture  might  have  excited  the  young  officer's 
surprise  ;  but  the  lady  stood  in  the  shade,  and  he  was  so 
intent  in  looking  upon  his  patron,  that  he  was  scarce  even 
conscious  of  Mrs.  Witherington's  presence. 

"  I  arn  happy  in  this  opportunity,"  said  Middlemas,  ob- 
serving that  the  General  did  not  speak,  "  to  return  my 
thanks  to  General  Witherington,  to  whom  they  never  can 
be  sufficiently  paid." 

The  sound  of  his  voice,  though  uttering  words  so  in- 
different, seemed  to  dissolve  the  charm  which  kept  his 
moiher  motionless.  She  sighed  deeply,  relaxed  the  rig- 
idity of  her  posture,  and  sunk  back  on  the  cushions  from, 
which  she  had  started  up.  Middlemas  turned  a  look  to- 
wards her  at  the  sound  of  the  sigh,  and  the  rustling  of  her 
drapery.  The  General  hastened  to  speak. 

"  My  wife,  Mr.  Middlemas,  has  been  unwell  of  late — 
your  friend,  Mr.  Hartley,  might  mention  it  to  you — an 
affection  of  the  nerves." 

Mr.  Middlemas  was,  of  course,  sorry  and  concerned. 

"  We  have  had  distress  in  our  family,  Mr.  Middlemas, 
from  the  ultimate  and  heart-breaking  consequences  of 
which  we  have  escaped  by  the  skill  of  your  friend,  Mr. 
Hartley.  We  will  be  happy  if  it  is  in  our  power  to  re- 
pay a  part  of  our  obligations  in  services  to  his  friend  and 
protege,  Mr.  Middlemas." 

"  I  am  only  acknowledged  as  Aw  protege,  then," 
thought  Richard  ;  but  he  said,  "  Every  one  must  envy 
his  friend,  in  having  had  the  distinguished  good  fortune 
to  be  of  use  to  General  Witherington  and  his  family." 

"  You  have  received  your  commission,  I  presume. 
Have  you  any  particular  wish  or  desire  respecting  your 
destination  9" 

"  No,  may  it  please  your  Excellency,"  answered 
Middlemas.  "  I  suppose  Hartley  would  tell  your  Excel- 
lency my  unhappy  state — that  I  am  an  orphan,  deserted 
by  the  parents  who  cast  me  on  the  wide  world,  an  oui 


THE    CANONGATE.  1  i7 

cast  about  whom  nobody  knows  or  cares,  except  to  de- 
sire that  I  should  wander  far  enough,  and  live  obscurely 
enough,  not  to  disgrace  them  by  their  connexion  with 
me." 

Zi.ia  wrung  her  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  drew  her  mus- 
lin veil  closely  around  her  head,  as  if  to  exclude  the  sounds 
which  excited  her  mental  agony. 

"  Mr.  Hartley  was  not  particularly  communicative 
about  your  affairs,"  said  the  General  ;  "  nor  do  I  wish 
to  give  you  the  pain  of  entering  into  them.  What  I  desire 
to  know  is,  if  you  are  pleased  with  your  destination  to 
Madras  f 

"  Perfectly,  please  your  Excellency — any  where,  so 
that  there  is  no  chance  of  meeting  the  villain  Hillary." 

"  Oh  !  Hillary's  services  are  too  necessary  in  the  pur- 
lieus of  Saint  Giles's,  the  Lowlights  of  New-castle,  and 
such  like  places,  where  human  carrion  can  be  picked  up, 
to  be  permitted  to  go  to  India.  However,  to  show  you 
the  knave  has  some  grace,  there  are  the  notes  of  which 
you  were  robbed.  You  will  find  them  the  very  same 
paper  which  you  lost,  except  a  small  sum  which  the  rogue 
had  spent,  but  which  a  friend  has  made  up,  in  compas- 
sion for  your  sufferings."  Richard  Middlemas  sunk  on 
one  knee,  and  kissed  the  hand  which  restored  him  to 
independence. 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  the  General,  "  you  are  a  silly  young 
man  ;"  but  he  withdrew  not  his  hand  from  his  caresses. 
This  was  one  of  the  occasions  on  which  Dick  Middlemas 
could  be  oratorical. 

"  O,  my  more  than  father,"  he  said,  "  how  much 
greater  a  debt  do  I  owe  to  you  than  to  the  unnatural  pa- 
rents, who  brought  me  into  this  world  by  their  sin,  and 
deserted  me  through  their  cruelty  !" 

Zilia,  as  she  heard  these  cutting  words,  flung  back  her 
veil,  raising  it  on  both  hands  till  it  floated  behind  her  like 
a  mist,  and  then  giving  a  faint  groan,  sunk  down  in  a 
swoon.  Pushing  Middlemas  from  him  with  a  hasty  move- 
ment, General  Witherington  flew  to  his  lady's  assistance, 
and  carried  her  in  his  arms,  as  if  she  had  been  a  child, 
545 


118  CIIROMCLES    OF 

into  the  anteroom,  where  an  old  servant  waited  with  the 
means  of  restoring  suspended  animation,  which  the  un- 
happy husband  too  truly  anticipated  might  be  useful. 
These  were  hastily  employed,  and  succeeded  in  calling 
me  sufferer  to  life,  but  in  a  state  of  mental  emotion  that 
was  terrible. 

Her  mind  was  obviously  impressed  by  the  last  words 
which  her  son  had  uttered. — "  Did  you  hear  him,  Rich- 
ard !"  she  exclaimed,  in  accents  terribly  loud,  consider- 
ing the  exhausted  state  of  her  strength — "  Did  you  hear 
the  words  9  It  was  Heaven  speaking  our  condemnation 
by  the  voice  of  our  own  child.  But  do  not  fear,  my 
Richard,  do  not  weep  !  I  will  answer  the  thunder  of 
Heaven  with  its  own  music." 

She  flew  to  a  harpsichord  which  stood  in  the  room, 
and.  while  the  servant  and  master  gazed  on  each  other, 
as  if  doubting  whether  her  senses  were  about  to  leave  her 
entirely,  she  wandered  over  the  keys,  producing  a  wilder- 
ness of  harmony,  composed  of  passages  recalled  by  mem- 
ory, or  combined  by  her  own  musical  talent,  until  at  length 
her  voice  and  instrument  united  in  one  of  those  magnifi- 
cent hymns  in  which  her  youth  had  praised  her  Maker, 
with  voice  and  harp,  like  the  Royal  Hebrew  who  com- 
posed it.  The  tear  ebbed  insensibly  from  the  eyes  which 
she  turned  upwards — her  vocal  tones,  combining  with 
those  of  the  instrument,  rose  to  a  pitch  of  brilliancy  sel- 
dom attained  by  the  most  distinguished  performers,  and 
then  sunk  into  a  dying  cadence,  which  fell,  never  again  to 
rise, — for  the  songstress  had  died  with  her  strain. 

The  horror  of  the  distracted  husband  may  be  conceiv- 
ed, when  all  efforts  to  restore  life  proved  totally  ineffectual. 
Servants  were  despatched  for  medical  men — Hartley, 
and  every  other  who  could  be  found.  The  General  pre- 
cipitated himself  into  the  apartment  they  had  so  lately 
left,  and  in  his  haste  ran  against  Middlemas,  who,  at  the 
sound  of  the  music  from  the  adjoining  apartment,  had 
naturally  approached  nearer  to  the  door,  and,  surprised 
and  startled  by  the  sort  of  clamour,  hasty  steps,  and  ".on- 


THE    CANOJVGATE.  119 

fused  voices  wnich  ensued,  had  remained  standii  g  .here 
endeavouring  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  so  much  disorder. 

The  sight  of  the  unfortunate  young  man  wakened  the 
General's  stormy  passions  to  frenzy.  He  seemed  to 
recognize  his  son  only  as  the  cause  of  his  wife's  death. 
He  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  shook  him  violently 
as  he  dragged  him  into  the  chamber  of  mortality. 

"  Come  hither,"  he  said,  "  thou  for  whom  a  life  of 
lowest  obscurity  was  too  mean  a  fate — come  hither,  and 
look  on  the  parents  whom  thou  hast  so  much  envied — 
whom  thou  hast  so  often  cursed.  Look  at  that  pale 
emaciated  form,  a  figure  of  wax,  rather  than  flesh  and 
blood — that  is  thy  mother — that  is  the  unhappy  Zilia 
Moncjada,  to  whom  thy  birth  was  the  source  of  shame 
and  misery,  and  to  whom  thy  ill-omened  presence  has 
now  brought  death  itself.  And  behold  me — "  he  pushed 
the  lad  from  him,  and  stood  up  erect,  looking  wellnigh 
in  gesture  and  figure  the  apostate  spirit  he  described — 
"  Behold  me — "  he  said  ;  "  see  you  not  my  hair  stream- 
ing with  sulphur,  my  brow  scathed  with  lightning  9 — I 
am  the  Arch-Fiend — 1  am  the  father  whom  you  seek — I 
am  the  accursed  Richard  Tresham,  the  seducer  of  Zilia, 
and  the  father  of  her  murderer  !" 

Hartley  entered  while  this  horrid  scene  was  passing. 
All  attention  to  the  deceased,  he  instantly  saw,  would  be 
thrown  away  ;  and  understanding,  partly  from  Winter, 
partly  from  the  tenor  of  the  General's  frantic  discourse, 
the  nature  of  the  disclosure  which  had  occurred,  he 
hastened  to  put  an  end,  if  possible,  to  the  frightful  and 
scandalous  scene  which  had  taken  place.  Aware  how 
delicately  the  General  felt  on  the  subject  of  reputation, 
he  assailed  him  with  remonstrances  on  such  conduct,  in 
presence  of  so  many  witnesses.  But  the  mind  had  ceai- 
ed  to  answer  to  that  once  powerful  key-note. 

"  1  care  not  if  the  whole  world  hear  my  sin  and  my 
punishment,"  said  Witherington.  "  It  shall  not  be  again 
said  of  me,  that  I  fear  shame  more  than  I  repent  sin.  I 
feared  shame  only  for  .Zilia,  and  Zilia  is  dead  '" 


120  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  But  her  memory,  General — spare  the  memory  of 
your  wife,  in  which  the  character  of  your  children  is  in- 
volved." 

"  I  have  no  children  !"  said  the  desperate  and  violent 
man.  "  My  Reuben  is  gone  to  Heaven,  to  prepare  a 
lodging  for  the  angel  who  has  now  escaped  from  earth  in 
a  flood  of  harmony,  which  can  only  be  equalled  where 
she  is  gone.  The  other  two  cherubs  will  not  survive  their 
mother.  I  shall  be,  nay,  I  already  feel  myself,  a  child- 
Jess  man." 

"  Yet  I  am  your  son,"  replied  Middlernas,  in  a  tone 
sorrowful,  but  at  the  same  time  tinged  with  sullen  resent- 
ment— "  Your  son  by  your  wedded  wife.  Pale  as  she 
lies  there,  I  call  upon  you  both  to  acknowledge  my  rights, 
and  all  who  are  present  to  bear  witness  to  them." 

"  Wretch  !"  exclaimed  the  maniac  father,  "  canst 
thou  think  of  thine  own  sordid  rights  in  the  midst  of  death 
and  frenzy  *?  My  son  ! — thou  art  the  fiend  who  hast  occa- 
sioned my  wretchedness  in  this  world,  and  who  will  share 
my  eternal  misery  in  the  next.  Hence  from  my  sight, 
and  my  curse  go  with  thee  !" 

His  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  his  arms  folded  on  his 
breast,  the  haughty  and  dogged  spirit  of  Middlernas  yet 
seemed  to  meditate  reply.  But  Hartley,  Winter,  and 
other  bystanders  interfered,  and  forced  him  from  the 
apartment.  As  they  endeavoured  to  remonstrate  with 
him,  he  twisted  himself  out  of  their  grasp,  ran  to  the 
stables,  and  seizing  the  first  saddled  horse  that  he  found, 
out  of  many  that  had  been  in  haste  got  ready  to  seek  foi 
assistance,  he  threw  himself  on  its  back,  and  rode  furi- 
ously off.  Hartley  was  about  to  mount  and  follow  him  ; 
but  Winter  and  the  other  domestics  threw  themselves 
around  him,  and  implored  him  not  to  desert  their  unfor- 
tunate master,  at  a  time  when  the  influence  wh'ch  he  had 
acquired  over  him  might  be  the  only  restraint  on  the  vio- 
ience  of  his  passions. 

"  He  had  a  coup  dr.  soldi  in  India,"  wlrspered  Winter. 
4  and  is  capable  of  anything  in  his  fits.  These  cowards 
cannot  control  him,  and  I  am  old  and  foeble." 


TIIK    CANOXGATF.  121 

Satisfied  that  General  Witherington  was  a  greater  oh 
ject  of  compassion  than  Micldlemas,  whom  besides  he  had 
no  hope  of  overtaking,  and  who  he  believed  was  safe  in 
his  own  keeping,  however  violent  might  be  his  present 
emotions.  Hartley  returned  where  the  greater  emergency 
demanded  his  immediate  care. 

He  found  the  unfortunate  General  contending  with  the 
domestics,  who  endeavoured  to  prevent  his  making  his 
way  to  the  apartment  where  his  children  slept,  and  ex- 
claiming fnriouslv — "  Rejoice,  my  treasures — rejoice  ! — 
He  lias  fled  who  would  proclaim  your  father's  crime,  and 
your  mother's  dishonour  ! — He  has  fled,  never  to  return, 
whose  life  has  been  the  death  of  one  parent,  and  the  ruin 
of  another  ! — Courage,  my  children,  your  father  is  with 
you — he  will  make  his  way  to  you  through  an  hundred 
obstacles." 

The  domestics,  intimidated  and  undecided,  were  giv- 
ing way  to  him,  when  Adam  Hartley  approached,  and 
placing  himself  before  the  unhappy  man,  fixed  his  eye 
firmly  on  the  General's,  while  he  said  in  a  low  but  stern 
voice — "  Madman,  would  you  kill  your  children  *?" 

The  General  seemed  staggered  in  his  resolution,  but 
still  attempted  to  rush  past  him.  But  Hartley,  seizing 
him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  on  each  side,  "You  are  my 
prisoner,"  he  said  ;  "  I  command  you  to  follow  me." 

"  Ha  !  prisoner  and  for  high  treason  9  Dog,  thon  hast 
met  thy  death  !" 

The  distracted  man  drew  a  poniard  from  his  bosom, 
nnd  Hartley's  strength  and  resolution  might  not  perhaps 
have  saved  his  life,  had  not  Winter  mastered  the  General's 
right  hand,  and  contrived  to  disarm  him. 

"  I  am  your  prisoner,  then,"  he  said  ;  "  use  me  civilly 
— and  iet  me  see  my  wife  and  children." 

••  You  shall  see  them  to-morrow,"  said  Hartley  ;  "  fol- 
low us  instantly,  and  without  the  least  resistance." 

General  Witherington  followed  like  a  child,  with  the 
an  of  one  who  is  suffering  for  a  cause  in  which  he  glories 

VOL.    II. 


122 


CIIROMCLES    OF 


"  1  run  not  ashamed  of  my  principles,"  he  said — "  1 
run  willing  lo  die  for  my  king." 

Without  exciting  his  frenzy,  by  contradicting  the  fan- 
tastic idea  which  occupied  his  imagination,  Hartley  con- 
tinued to  maintain  over  his  patient  the  ascendency  he  had 
acquired.  He  caused  him  to  be  led  to  his  apartment,  and 
beheld  him  suffer  himself  to  be  put  to  bed.  Administer- 
ing then  a  strong  composing  draught,  and  causing  a  ser- 
vant to  sleep  in  the  room,  he  watched  the  unfortunate 
man  till  dawn  of  morning. 

General  Witherington  awoke  in  his  full  senses,  and 
apparently  conscious  of  his  real  situation,  which  he  testi- 
fied by  low  groans,  sobs,  and  tears.  When  Hartley  drew 
near  his 'bedside,  he  knew  him  perfectly,  and  said,  "  Do 
not  fear  me — the  fit  is  over — leave  me  now,  and  see  after 
yonder  unfortunate.  Let  him  leave  Britain  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  go  where  his  fate  calls  him,  and  where  we 
can  never  meet  more.  Winter  knows  my  ways,  and  will 
take  care  of  me." 

Winter  gave  the  same  advice.       "  I  can  answer,"  he 
said,  "  for  my  master's  security  at  present ;  but  in  Heav- 
en's name,  prevent  his  ever  meeting  again  with  that  ob 
durate  young  man  !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

Well,  then,  the  world's  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sword  will  open. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

WHEN  Adam  Hartley  arrived  at  his  lodgings  in  the 
sweet  little  town  of  Ryde,  his  first  inquiries  were  after  his 
comrade.  He  had  arrived  last  night  late,  man  and  horse 
all  in  a  foam.  He  made  no  reply  to  any  questions  about 
supper  or  the  like,  but  snatching  a  candle,  ran  up  stairs 


THE    CANONGATE.  123 

into  his  apartment,  and  shut  and  double-locked  the  doo- 
The  servants  only  supposed,  that,  being  something  inlox 
icated,  he  had  ridden  hard,  and  was  unwilling  to  expose 
himself. 

Hartley  went  to  the  door  of  his  chamber,  not  without 
some  apprehensions  ;  and  after  knocking  and  calling  more 
than  once,  received  at  length  the  welcome  return,  "  Who 
is  there  ?" 

On  Hartley  announcing  himself,  the  door  opened,  and 
"Middlemas  appeared,  well  dressed,  and  with  his  hair  ar- 
ranged and  powdered  ;  although,  from  the  appearance  of 
the  bed,  it  had  not  been  slept  in  on  the  preceding  night, 
and  Richard's  countenance,  haggard  and  ghastly,  seemed 
to  bear  witness  to  the  same  fact.  It  was,  however,  with 
an  affectation  of  indifference  that  he  spoke. 

"  1  congratulate  you  on  your  improvement  in  worldly 
knowledge,  Adam.  It  is  just  the  time  to  desert  the  poor 
heir,  and  stick  by  him  that  is  in  immediate  possession  of 
the  wealth." 

"  I  staid  last  night  at  General  Witherington's,"  an- 
swered Hartley,  "  because  he  is  extremely  ill." 

"  Tell  him  to  repent  of  his  sins,  then,"  said  Richard. 
'*  Old  Gray  used  to  say,  a  doctor  had  as  good  a  title  to 
give  ghostly  advice  as  a  parson.  Do  you  remember 
Doctor  Dulberry,  the  minister,  calling  him  an  interloper  ? 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 

"  I  am  surprised  at  this  style  of  language  from  one  in 
your  circumstances." 

"  Why,  ay,"  said  Middlemas,  with  a  bitter  smile, — "  il 
would  be  difficult  to  most  men  to  keep  up  their  spirits, 
after  gaining  and  losing  father,  mother,  and  a  good  inher- 
itance, all  in  the  same  day.  But  I  had  always  a  turn  for 
philosophy." 

"  I  really  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Middlemas." 

"  Why,  I  found  my  parents  yesterday,  did  I  not  9"  an- 
swered the  young  man.  "  My  mother,  as  you  know,  had 
waited  but  that  moment  to  die,  and  my  father  to  become 
distracted  ;  and  I  conclude  both  were  contrived  purpose- 
ly to  cheat  me  of  my  inheritance,  as  he  ha?  taken  up 
such  a  prejudice  against  me." 


124  CHRONICLES    OF 

'  Inheritance  *?"  repeated  Hartley,  bewildered  by 
Richard's  calmness,  and  half  suspecting  that  the  insai  \ly 
of  the  father  was  hereditary  in  the  family.  "  In  Heav- 
en's name,  recollect  yourself,  and  get  rid  of  these  hallu- 
cinations. What  inheritance  are  you  dreaming  of  9" 

"  That  of  my  mother,  to  be  sure,  who  must  have  in- 
herited old  Mon^ada's  wealth — and  to  whom  should  it  de- 
scend, save  to  her  children  *? — 1  am  the  eldest  of  them— 
that  fact  cannot  he  denied." 

"  But  consider,  Richard — recollect  yourself." 

"  I  do,"  said  Richard  ;  "  and  what  then  9" 

"  Then  you  cannot  but  remember,"  said  Hartley, 
"  that  unless  there  was  a  will  in  your  favour,  your  birth 
prevents  you  from  inheriting." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  I  am  legitimate. — Yonder 
sickly  brats,  whom  you  rescued  from  the  grave,  are  not 
more  legitimate  than  I  am. — Yes  !  our  parents  could  not 
allow  the  air  of  Heaven  to  breathe  on  them — rne  they 
committed  to  the  winds  and  the  waves — 1  am  neverthe- 
less their  lawful  child,  as  well  as  their  puling  offspring  of 
advanced  age  and  decayed  health.  I  saw  them,  Adam 
— Winter  showed  the  nursery  to  me  while  they  were 
gathering  courage  to  receive  me  in  the  drawing-room. 
There  they  lay,  the  children  of  predilection,  the  riches 
of  the  East  expended  that  they  might  sleep  soft,  and 
wake  in  magnificence.  I,  the  eldest  brother — the  heir — 
I  stood  beside  their  bed  in  the  borrowed  dress  which  I 
had  so  lately  exchanged  for  the  rags  of  an  hospital. 
Their  couches  breathed  the  richest  perfumes,  while  I  was 
reeking  from  a  pest-house  ;  and  I — I  repeat  it — the  heir, 
the  produce  of  their  earliest  and  best  love,  was  thus  treat- 
ed. No  wonder  that  my  look  was  that  of  a  basilisk." 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  possessed  with  an  evil 
spirit,"  said  Hartley  ;  '*'  or  else  you  labour  under  a  strange 
delusion." 

"  You  think  those  only  are  legally  married  over  whom 
a  drowsy  parson  has  read  the  ceremony  from  a  dog's- 
eared  prayer-book  9  It  may  be  so  in  your  English  law 
— but  Scotland  makes  Love  himself  the  priest.  A  vo\v 


TIIK    CANOXGATE.  25 

betwixt  a  fond  couple,  the  blue  heaven  alone  witnessing, 
will  protect  a  confiding  girl  against  the  perjury  of  a  fickle 
swain,  as  much  as  if  a  Dean  had  performed  the  rites  in 
the  loftiest  cathedral  in  England.  Nay  more  ;  if  the 
child  of  love  be  acknowledged  by  ihe  father  at  the  time 
when  he  is  baptized — if  he  present  the  mother  to  stran- 
gers of  respectability  as  his  wife,  the  laws  of  Scotland 
will  not  allow  him  to  retract  the  justice  which  has,  in 
these  actions,  been  done  to  the  female  whom  he  has 
wronged,  or  the  offspring  of  their  mutual  love.  This 
General  Tresham,  or  Witherington,  treated  my  unhappy 
mother  as  his  wife  before  Gray  and  others,  quartered  her 
as  such  in  the  family  of  a  respectable  man,  gave  her  the 
same  name  by  which  he  himself  chose  to  pass  for  the 
time.  He  presented  me  to  the  priest  as  his  lawful 
offspring;  and  the  law  of  Scotland,  benevolent  to  the 
helpless  child,  will  not  allow  him  now  to  disown  what  he 
so  formally  admitted.  1  know  my  rights,  and  am  deter- 
mined to  claim  them." 

"  You  do  not  then  intend  to  go  on  board  the  Middle- 
sex 1  Think  a  little — You  will  lose  your  voyage  and 
your  commission." 

"  1  will  save  my  birth-right,"  answered  Middlemas. 
"  When  I  thought  of  going  to  India,  1  knew  not  my  par- 
ents, or  how  to  make  good  the  rights  which  I  had  through 
them.  That  riddle  is  solved.  I  am  entitled  to  at  least  a 
third  of  MoiMjada's  estate,  which,  by  Winter's  account,  is 
considerable.  But  for  you,  and  your  mode  of  treating 
the  small-pox,  I  should  have  had  the  whole.  Little  did  I 
think,  when  old  Gray  was  likely  to  have  his  wig  pulled  off, 
for  putting  out  fires,  throwing  open  windows,  and  exploding 
whisky  and  water,  that  the  new  system  of  treating  the 
email-pox  was  to  cost  me  so  many  thousand  pounds." 

"  You  are  determined,  then,"  said  Hartley,  "  on  this 
wild  course "?" 

"  I  know  my  rights,  and  am  determined  to  make  them 
available,"  answered  ihe  obstinate  youth. 

"  Mr.  Richard  Middlemas,  I  am  sorry  for  you. ' 
VOL.   n. 


I  26  CHRONICLES    OF 

"  Mi.  Adam  Hartley,  I  beg  to  know  why  I  am  hon- 
oured by  your  sorrow." 

"  I  pity  you,"  answered  Hartley,  "  both  for  the  obsti- 
nacy of  selfishness,  which  can  think  of  wealth,  alter  the 
scene  you  saw  last  night  and  for  the  idle  vision  which 
leads  you  to  believe  that  )ou  can  obtain  possession  of  ic ''' 

';  Selfish  !"  cried  Middlemas  ;  "  why,  1  am  a  dutiful 
son,  labouring  to  clear  the  memory  of  a  calumniated 
mother — And  am  I  a  visionary  9 — Why,  it  was  to  this 
hope  that  I  awakened,  when  old  Mon^ada's  letter  to  Gray, 
devoting  me  to  perpetual  obscurity,  first  roused  me  to  a 
sense  of  my  situation,  and  dispelled  the  dreams  of  rny 
childhood.  Do  you  think  that  I  would  ever  have  sub- 
mitted to  the  drudgery  which  I  shared  with  you,  but  that, 
by  doing  so,  I  kept  in  view  the  only  traces  of  these  un- 
natural parents,  by  means  of  which  I  proposed  to  intro- 
duce myself  to  their  notice,  and,  if  necessary,  enforce 
the  rights  of  a  legitimate  child  *?  The  silence  and  death 
of  Moncada  broke  my  plans,  and  it  was  then  only  I  re- 
conciled myself  to  the  thoughts  of  India." 

*'  You  were  very  young,  to  have  known  so  much  of 
the  Scottish  law,  at  the  time  when  we  were  first  acquaint- 
ed," said  Hartley.  "  But  I  can  guess  your  instructer." 

"  No  less  authority  than  Tom  Hillary's,"  replied  Mid- 
dlemas. "  His  good  counsel  on  that  head  is  a  reason  why 
1  do  not  now  prosecute  him  to  the  gallows." 

"  1  judged  as  much,"  replied  Hartley  ;  "  for  I  heard 
him,  before  I  left  Middlemas,  debating  the  point  with  Mr. 
Lawford  ;  and  I  recollect  perfectly,  that  he  stated  the 
law  to  be  such  as  you  now  lay  down." 

"  And  what  said  Lawford  in  answer  ?"  demanded 
Middlemas. 

"  He  admitted,"  replied  Hartley,  "  that  in  circum- 
stances where  the  case  was  doubtful,  such  presumptions 
of  legitimacy  might  be  admitted.  But  he  said  they  were 
liable  to  be  controlled  by  positive  and  precise  testimony, 
»s,  for  instance,  the  evidence  of  the  mother  declaring  the 
illegitimacy  of  the  child  "* 


THE    C \XONGATK.  127 

"  But  there  can  exist  none  such  in  my  case,"  said 
Middlenias  hastily,  and  with  marks  of  alarm. 

'  1  will  not  deceive  you,  Mr.  Middlemns,  though  I  fear 
I  cannot  help  giving  you  pain.  I  had  yesterday  a  long 
r.onference  with  your  mother,  Mrs.  Witherington,  in  which 
she  acknowledged  you  as  her  son,  but  a  son  born  before 
marriage.  This  express  declaration  will,  therefore,  put 
an  end  to  the  suppositions  on  which  you  ground  your 
hopes.  If  you  please  you  may  hear  the  contents  of  her 
declaration,  which  1  have  in  her  own  handwriting." 

"  Confusion  !  is  the  cup  to  be  for  ever  dashed  from 
my  lips  9"  muttered  Richard  ;  but  recovering  his  com- 
posure, by  exertion  of  the  self-command  of  which  he 
possessed  so  large  a  portion,  he  desired  Hartley  to  pro- 
ceed with  his  communication.  Hartley  accordingly  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  him  of  the  particulars  preceding  his 
birth,  and  those  which  followed  after  it ;  while  Middlemas 
seated  on  a  sea-chest,  listened  with  inimitable  composure 
to  a  tale  which  went  to  root  up  the  flourishing  hopes 
of  wealth  which  he  had  lately  so  fondly  entertained. 

Zilia  Mon^ada  was  the  only  child  of  a  Portuguese  Jew 
of  great  wealth,  who  had  come  to  London,  in  prosecution 
of  his  commerce.  Among  the  few  Christians  who  fre- 
quented his  house,  and  occasionally  his  table,  was  Richard 
Tresham,  a  gentleman  of  a  high  Northumbrian  family, 
deeply  engaged  in  the  service  of  Charles  Edward  during 
his  short  invasion,  and  though  holding  a  commission  in  the 
Portuguese  service,  still  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the 
British  government,  on  account  of  his  well-known  cour- 
age and  Jacobitical  principles.  The  high-bred  elegance 
of  this  gentleman,  together  with  his  complete  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Portuguese  language  and  manners,  had  won 
the  intimacy  of  old  Mon^ada,  and,  alas  !  the  heart  of  the 
inexperienced  Zilia,  who,  beautiful  as  an  angel,  had  as 
little  knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  wickedness  as  the 
lamb  that  is  but  a  week  old. 

Tresharn  made  his  proposals  to  Monqada,  perhaps  IP 
a  manner  which  too  evidently  showed  that  he  conceive;! 
{he  high-born  Christian  was  degrading  himself  in  asking 


128 


CHRONICLES    OF 


an  alliance  with  the  wealthy  Jew.  Monc.ada  rejected  his 
proposals,  forbade  him  his  house,  but  could  not  prevent 
the  lovers  from  mee*;ng  in  private.  Tresham  made  a 
dishonourable  use  of  the  opportunities  which  the  poor 
Zilia  so  incautiously  afforded,  and  the  consequence  was 
her  ruin.  The  lover,  however,  had  every  purpose  of 
righting  the  injury  which  he  had  inflicted,  and,  after  vari- 
ous plans  of  secret  marriage,  which  were  rendered  abor- 
tive by  the  difference  of  religion,  and  other  circumstances, 
flight  for  Scotland  was  determined  on.  The  hurry  of 
the  journey,  the  fear  and  anxiety  to  which  Zilia  was  sub- 
ject, brought  on  her  confinement  several  weeks  before 
the  usual  time,  so  that  they  were  compelled  to  accept  of 
the  assistance  and  accommodation  offered  by  Mr.  Gray. 
They  had  not  been  there  many  hours  ere  Tresham  heard, 
by  the  medium  of  some  sharp-sighted  or  keen-eared 
friend,  that  there  were  warrants  out  against  him  for  trea- 
sonable practices.  His  correspondence  with  Charles 
Edward  had  become  known  to  Mon^ada  during  the  peri- 
od of  their  friendship  ;  he  betrayed  it  in  vengeance  to  the 
British  cabinet,  and  warrants  were  issued,  in  which,  at 
Mon^ada's  request,  his  daughter's  name  was  included. 
This  might  be  of  use,  he  apprehended,  to  enable  him  to 
separate  his  daughter  from  Tresham,  should  he  find  the 
fugitives  actually  married.  How  far  he  succeeded  the 
reader  already  knows,  as  well  as  the  precautions  which 
he  took  to  prevent  the  living  evidence  of  his  child's  frail- 
ty from  being  known  to  exist.  His  daughter  he  carried 
with  him,  and  subjected  her  to  severe  restraint,  which 
her  own  reflections  rendered  doubly  bitter.  It  would 
have  completed  his  revenge,  had  the  author  of  Zilia's 
misfortunes  been  brought  to  the  scaffold  for  his  political 
offences.  But  Tresham  skulked  among  friends  in  the 
Highlands,  and  escaped  until  the  affair  blew  over. 

He  afterwards  entered  into  the  East  India  Company^ 
service,  under  his  mother's  name  of  Witherington,  which 
concealed  the  Jacobite  and  rebel,  until  these  terms  were 
forgotten.  His  skill  in  military  affairs  soon  raised  him  to 
riches  and  eminence.  When  he  returned  to  Britain,  his 


THE    CANONGATE. 


A29 


fir«'  :nquiries  were  after  the  family  of  Mon^ada  His 
fame,  his  wealth,  and  the  late  conviction  that  his  daughter 
never  would  marry  any  but  him  who  had  her  first  love, 
induced  the  old  man  to  give  that  encouragement  to  Gen- 
eral Witherington,  which  he  had  always  denied  to  the  poor 
and  outlawed  Major  Tresham  ;  and  the  lovers,  after  hav- 
ing heen  fourteen  years  separated,  were  at  length  united 
in  wedlock. 

General  Witherington  eagerly  concurred  in  the  earnest 
wish  of  his  father-in-law,  that  every  rememhrance  of  for- 
mer events  should  be  buried,  by  leaving  the  fruit  of  the 
early  and  unhappy  intrigue  suitably  provided  for,  but  in  a 
distant  and  obscure  situation.  Zilia  thought  far  otherwise. 
Her  heart  longed,  with  a  mother's  longing,  towards  the 
object  of  her  first  maternal  tenderness,  but  she  dared  not 
place  herself  in  opposition  at  once  to  the  will  of  her  father, 
and  the  decision  of  her  husband.  The  former,  his  relig- 
ious prejudices  much  effaced  by  his  long  residence  in 
England,  had  given  consent  that  she  should  conform  to 
the  established  religion  of  her  husband  and  her  country, — 
the  latter,  haughty  as  we  have  described  him,  made  it  his 
pride  to  introduce  the  beautiful  convert  among  his  high- 
born kindred.  The  discovery  of  her  former  frailty  would 
have  proved  a  blow  to  her  respectability,  which  he  dread- 
ed like  death  ;  and  it  could  not  long  remain  a  secret  from 
his  wife,  that  in  consequence  of  a  severe  illness  in  India, 
even  his  reason  became  occasionally  shaken  by  any  thing 
which  violently  agitated  his  feelings.  She  had,  therefore, 
acquiesced  in  patience  and  silence  in  the  course  of  policy 
which  Mon^ada  had  devised,  and  which  her  husband  anx- 
iously and  warmly  approved.  Yet  her  thoughts,  even 
when  their  marriage  was  blessed  with  other  offspring, 
anxiously  reverted  to  the  banished  and  outcast  child,  who 
had  first  been  clasped  to  the  maternal  bosom. 

All  these  feelings,  "  subdued  and  cherished  long,"  were 
set  afloat  in  full  tide  by  the  unexpected  discovery  of  this 
son,  redeemed  from  a  lot  of  extreme  misery,  and  placed 
brt'ore  his  mother's  imagination  in  circumstance?  so  dis- 
astrous. 


130  CHRONICLES    OF 

It  was  in  vain  that  her  husband  had  assured  her  that  lie 
would  secure  the  young  man's  prosperity,  by  his  purse  and 
his  interest.  She  could  not  be  satisfied,  until  she  had 
herself  done  something  to  alleviate  the  doom  of  banish- 
ment to  which  her  eldest-born  was  thus  condemned.  She 
was  the  more  eager  to  do  so,  as  she  felt  the  extreme  del- 
icacy of  her  health,  which  was  undermined  by  so  many 
years  of  secret  suffering. 

Mrs.  Witherington  was,  in  conferring  her  maternal 
bounty,  naturally  led  to  employ  the  agency  of  Hartley,  the 
companion  of  her  son,  and  to  whom,  since  the  recovery 
of  her  younger  children,  she  almost  looked  up  as  to  a  tu- 
telar deity.  She  placed  in  his  hands  a  sum  of  £2000, 
which  she  had  at  her  own  unchallenged  disposal,  with  a 
request,  uttered  in  the  fondest  and  most  affectionate  terms, 
that  it  might  be  applied  to  the  service  of  Richard  Middle- 
mas  in  the  way  Hartley  should  think  most  useful  to  him. 
She  assured  him  of  further  support,  as  it  should  be  need- 
ed ;  and  a  note  to  the  following  purport  was  also  intrusted 
to  him,  to  be  delivered  when  and  where  the  prudence  of 
Hartley  should  judge  it  proper  to  confide  to  him  the  se- 
cret of  his  birth. 

"  Oh,  Benoni  !  Oh,  child  of  my  sorrow  !"  -said  this  in- 
teresting document,  "  why  should  the  eyes  of  thy  unhappy 
mother  be  about  to  obtain  permission  to  look  on  thee, 
since  her  arms  were  denied  the  right  to  fold  thee  to  her 
bosom  *?  May  the  God  of  Jews  and  of  Gentiles  watch  over 
thee,  end  guard  thee  !  May  he  remove,  in  his  good  time, 
the  darkness  which  rolls  between  me  and  the  beloved  of 
my  heart — the  first  fruit  of  my  unhappy,  nay,  unhallowed 
affection.  Do  not — do  not,  my  beloved  ! — think  thyself 
a  lonely  exile,  while  thy  mother's  prayers  arise  for  thee 
at  sunrise  and  at  sunset,  to  call  down  every  blessing  on 
thy  head — to  invoke  every  power  in  thy  protection  and 
defence.  Seek  not  to  see  me — Oh,  why  must  I  say  so  ' — • 
But  let  'tie  humble  myself  in  the  dust,  since  it  is  my  own 
sin,  my  own  folly,  which  1  must  blame  ; — but  seek  not  t.c 
see  or  soeak  with  me — it  might  be  the  death  of  both. 


THE    CA.NONUATE.  13] 

Confide  ihy  thoughts  to  the  excellent  Hartley,  who  hath 
been  the  guardian  angel  of  us  all — even  as  the  tribes  oi 
Israel  had  each  their  guardian  angel.  What  thou  shall 
wish,  and  he  shall  advise  in  thy  behalf,  shall  be  done,  it 
in  the  power  of  a  mother — And  the  love  of  a  mother  !  Is 
it  bou.ided  by  seas,  or  can  deserts  and  distance  measure 
its  limits  9  Oh,  child  of  my  sorrow  !  Oh,  Benoni  !  let  thy 
spirit  be  with  mine,  as  mine  is  with  thee. 

"Z.  M." 

All  these  arrangements  being  completed,  the  unfortu- 
nate lady  next  insisted  with  her  husband  that  she  should 
be  permitted  to  see  her  son  in  that  parting  interview  which 
terminated  so  fatally.  Hartley,  therefore,  now  discharged 
as  her  executor,  the  duty  intrusted  to  him  as  her  confi- 
dential agent. 

"  Surely,"  he  thought,  as,  having  finished  his  commu- 
nication, he  was  about  to  leave  the  apartment,  "  surely 
the  demons  of  Ambition  and  Avarice  vvilJ  unclose  the  tal- 
ons which  they  have  fixed  upon  this  man,  at  a  charm  like 
this." 

And  indeed  Richard's  heart  had  been  formed  ol  the 
nether  millstone,  had  he  not  been  duly  affected  by  these 
first  and  last  tokens  of  his  mother's  affection.  He  leant 
his  head  upon  a  table,  and  his  tears  flowed  plentifully. 
Hartley  left  him  undisturbed  for  more  than  an  hour,  and 
on  his  return  found  him  in  nearly  the  same  attitude  in 
which  he  had  left  him. 

"  I  regret  to  disturb  you  at  this  moment,"  he  said,  "  but 
1  have  still  a  part  of  rny  duty  to  discharge.  1  must  place 
in  your  possession  the  deposit  which  your  mother  made 
in  my  hands — and  1  must  also  remind  you  that  time  flies 
fast,  and  that  you  have  scarce  an  hour  or  two  to  deter- 
mine whether  you  will  prosecute  your  Indian  voyage, 
under  the  new  view  of  circumstances  which  1  have  open- 
ed to  you." 

.Mid-dlemas  took  the  bills  which  his  mother  had  be- 
queathed him.  As  he  raised  his  head,  Hartley  could 
observe  that  his  face  was  stained  wi'.h  tears.  Yet  hti 


32  CllHOMCJLKS    OF 

counted  over  the  money  with  mercantile  accuracy  ;  ant. 
though  he  assumed  the  pen  for  the  purpose  of  writing  a 
discharge  with  an  air  of  inconsolable  dejection,  yet  he 
drew  it  up  in  good  set  terms,  like  one  who  had  his  senses 
much  at  his  command. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  in  a  mournful  voice.  "  give  me 
my  mother's  narrative." 

Hartley  almost  started,  and  answered  hastily,  "  You 
have  the  poor  lady's  letter,  which  was  addressed  to  your- 
self— the  narrative  is  addressed  to  me.  It  is  my  warrant 
Tor  disposing  of  a  large  sum  of  money — it  concerns  the 
rights  of  third  parties,  and  I  cannot  part  with  it." 

"  Surely,  surely  it  were  better  to  deliver  it  into  my 
hands,  were  it  but  to  weep  over  it,"  answered  Middlemas., 
"  My  fortune,  Hartley,  has  been  very  cruel.  You  see 
that  my  parents  purposed  to  have  made  me  their  undoubt- 
ed heir  ;  yet  their  purpose  was  disappointed  by  accident. 
And  now  my  mother  comes  with  well-intended  fondness, 
and  while  she  means  to  advance  my  fortune,  furnishes 
evidence  to  destroy  it. — Come,  come,  Hartley — you  must 
be  conscious  that  my  mother  wrote  those  details  entirely 
for  my  information.  I  am  the  rightful  owner,  and  insist 
on  having  them." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  must  insist  on  refusing  your  demand," 
answered  Hartley,  putting  the  papers  in  his  pocket.  "  You 
ought  to  consider,  that  if  this  communication  has  destroy- 
ed the  idle  and  groundless  hopes  which  you  have  indulged 
in,  it  has,  at  the  same  time,  more  than  trebled  your  capi- 
tal ;  and  that  if  there  are  some  hundreds  or  thousands  in 
the  world  richer  than  yourself,  there  are  many  millions  not 
half  so  well  provided.  Set  a  brave  spirit,  then,  against 
your  fortune,  and  do  not  doubt  your  success  in  life." 

His  words  seemed  to  sink  into  the  gloomy  mind  of 
Middlemas.  He  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  an- 
swered with  a  reluctant  and  insinuating  voice, — 

"  My  dear  Hartley,  we  have  long  been  companions— 
you  can  have  neither  pleasure  nor  interest  in  ruining  my 
hopes — vou  may  find  some  in  forwarding  them.  Monqa 


MHK    CANOiNGATE.  133 

da's  fortune  will  enable  me  to  allow  five  tLoasand  pounds 
lo  the  friend  who  should  aid  me  in  my  difficulties  " 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  Mr.  Middlemas,"  said  Hart- 
ley, endeavouring  to  withdraw. 

"  One  moment — one  moment,"  said  Middlemas,  hold- 
ing his  friend  by  the  button  at  the  same  time,  "  1  meant 
to  say  ten  thousand — and — and — marry  whomsoever  you 
like — ]  will  not  be  your  hinderance." 

"  You  are  a  villain  !"  said  Hartley,  breaking  from  him, 
"  and  1  always  thought  you  so." 

"  And  you,"  answered  Middlemas,  "  are  a  fool,  and  I 
never  thought  you  better.  Off  he  goes — Let  him — the 
game  has  been  played  and  lost — 1  must  hedge  my  bets: 
India  must  be  my  back-play." 

All  was  in  readiness  for  his  departure.  A  small  vessel 
and  a  favouring  gale  conveyed  him  and  several  other  mil- 
itary gentlemen  to  the  Downs,  where  the  Indiaman  which 
was  to  transport  them  from  Europe,  lay  ready  for  their 
reception. 

His  first  feelings  were  sufficiently  disconsolate.  But  ac- 
customed from  his  infancy  to  conceal  his  internal  thoughts, 
he  appeared  in  the  course  of  a  week  the  gayest  and  "best 
bred  passenger  who  ever  dared  the  long  and  weary  space 
betwixt  Old  England  and  her  Indian  possessions.  At  Ma- 
dras, where  the  sociable  feelings  of  the  resident  inhabi- 
tants give  ready  way  to  enthusiasm  in  behalf  of  any  stranger 
of  agreeable  qualities,  he  experienced  that  warm  hospital- 
ity which  distinguishes  the  British  character  in  the  East. 

Middlemas  was  well  received  in  company,  and  in  the 
way  of  becoming  an  indispensable  guest  at  every  enter- 
tainment in  the  place,  when  the  vessel,  on  board  of  which 
Hartley  acted  as  surgeon's  mate,  arrived  at  the  same  set- 
tlement. The  latter  would  not,  from  his  situation,  have 
been  entitled  to  expect  much  civility  and  attention  ;  but 
this  disadvantage  was  made  up  by  his  possessing  the  most 
powerful  introductions  from  General  Witherington,  and 
from  other  persons  of  weight  in  Leadenhall-street,  the 
General's  friends,  to  the  principal  inhabitants  in  the  settle 
546 


134  CHKONiCLES    OF 

merit  He  found  himself  once  more,  there fc  re,,  moving 
in  the  same  sphere  with  Middlemas,  and  under  the  alter- 
native of  living  with  him  on  decent  and  distant  terms,  or 
of  breaking  off  with  him  altogether. 

The  first  of  these  courses  might  perhaps  have  been  the 
wisest;  but  the  other  was  most  congenial  to  the  blunt  and 
plain  character  of  Hartley,  who  saw  neither  propriety  nor 
comfort  in  maintaining  a  show  of  friendly  intercourse,  to 
conceal  hate,  contempt,  and  mutual  dislike. 

The  circle  at  Fort  Saint  George  was  much  more  re- 
stricted at  that  time  than  it  has  been  since.  The  coldness 
of  the  young  men  did  not  escape  notice  ;  it  transpired  that 
ihey  had  been  once  intimates  and  fellow-students  ;  yet  it 
was  now  found  that  they  hesitated  at  accepting  invitations 
to  the  same  parties.  Rumour  assigned  many  different  and 
incompatible  reasons  for  this  deadly  breach,  to  which 
Hartley  gave  no  attention  whatever,  while  Lieutenant  Mid- 
dlemas took  care  to  countenance  those  which  represented 
the  cause  of  the  quarrel  most  favourably  to  himself. 

"  A  little  bit  of  rivalry  had  taken  place,"  he  said,  when 
pressed  by  gentlemen  for  an  explanation  ;  "  he  had  only 
had  fhe  good  luck  to  get  further  in  the  good  graces  of  a 
fair  lady  than  his  friend  Hartley,  who  had  made  a  quar- 
rel of  it,  as  they  saw.  He  thought  it  very  silly  to  keep  up 
spleen,  at  such  a  distance  of  time  and  space.  He  was 
sorry,  more  for  the  sake  of  the  strangeness  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  thing  than  anything  else,  although  his  friend 
had  really  some  very  good  points  about  him." 

While  these  whispers  were  working  their  effect  in  soci- 
ety, they  did  not  prevent  Hartley  from  receiving  the  most 
flattering  assurances  of  encouragement  and  official  promo- 
tion fiom  the  Madras  government,  as  opportunity  should 
arise.  Soon  after,  it  was  intimated  to  him  that  a  medical 
appointment  of  a  lucrative  nature  in  a  remote  settlement 
was  conferred  on  him,  which  removed  him  for  some  time 
from  Madras  and  its  neighbourhood. 

Hartley  accordingly  sailed  on  his  distant  expedit'on  ; 
and  it  was  observed,  that  after  his  departure,  the  charac- 
ter of  Middlemas,  as  if  some  check  had  been  removed 


THE    CANONGATE.  135 

began  to  display  itself  in  disagreeable  colours.  It  was 
noticed  that  this  young  man,  whose  manners  were  so 
agreeable  and  so  courteous  during  the  first  months  alter 
his  arrival  in  India,  began  now  to  show  symptoms  of  a 
haughty  and  overbearing  spirit.  He  had  adopted,  for 
reasons  which  the  reader  may  conjecture,  but  which  ap- 
peared to  be  mere  whim  at  Fort  St.  George,  the  name  of 
Tresham,  in  addition  to  that  by  which  he  had  hitherto 
been  distinguished,  and  in  this  he  persisted  with  an  obsti- 
nacy, which  belonged  more  to  the  pride  than  the  craft  of 
his  character.  The  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  regiment, 
an  old  cross-tempered  martinet,  did  not  choose  to  indulge 
the  Captain  (such  was  now  the  rank  of  Middlemas)  in 
this  humour. 

"  He  knew  no  officer,"  he  said,  "  by  any  name  save 
that  which  he  bore  in  his  commission,"  and  he  Midd'e- 
mass'd  the  Captain  on  all  occasions. 

One  fatal  evening,  the  Captain  was  so  much  provoked, 
as  to  intimate  peremptorily,  "  that  he  knew  his  own  name 
best." 

"  Why,  Captain  Middlemas,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "  il 
is  not  every  child  that  knows  its  own  father,  so  how  can 
every  man  be  so  sure  of  his  own  name  *?" 

The  bow  was  drawn  at  a  venture,  but  the  shaft  found 
the  rent  in  the  armour,  and  sturig  deeply.  In  spite  of  all 
the  interposition  which  could  be  attempted,  Middlefnas 
insisted  on  challenging  the  Colonel,  who  could  be  persuad- 
ed to  no  apology. 

"  If  Captain  Middlemas,"  he  said,  "  thought  the  cap 
fitted,  he  was  welcome  to  wear  it." 

The  result  was  a  meeting,  in  which,  after  the  parties 
had  exchanged  shots,  the  seconds  tendered  their  media- 
tion. It  was  rejected  by  Middlemas,  who,  at  the  second 
fire,  had  the  misfortune  to  kill  his  commanding  officer. 
In  consequence,  he  was  obliged  to  fly  from  the  British  set- 
tlements; for,  being  universally  blamed  for  having  pushed 
the  quarrel  to  extremity,  there  was  little  doubt  that  the 
whole  severity  of  military  discipline  would  be  exercised 
ipon  the  delinquent.  Middlemas,  therefore,  vanished 


136  CHRONICLES    OF 

from  Fort  St.  George,  and,  though  the  affl  r  lad  made 
much  noise  at  the  time,  was  soon  no  longer  talkf-d  of  It 
was  understood,  in  general,  that  he  had  gone  to  seek  that 
fortune  at  the  court  of  some  native  prince,  which  he  could 
no  longer  hope  for  in  the  British  settlements. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THREE  years  passed  away  after  the  fatal  rencounter 
mentioned  in  the  last  Chapter,  and  Doctor  Hartley  re- 
turning from  his  appointed  mission,  which  was  only  tem- 
porary, received  encouragement  to  settle  in  Madras  in  a 
medical  capacity  ;  and,  upon  having  done  so,  soon  had 
reason  to  think  he  had  chosen  a  line  in  which  he  might 
rise  to  wealth  and  reputation.  His  practice  was  not  con- 
fined to  his  countrymen,  but  much  sought  after  among  the 
natives,  who,  whatever  may  be  their  prejudices  against  the 
Europeans  in  other  respects,  universally  esteem  their  su- 
perior powers  in  the  medical  profession.  This  lucrative 
branch  of  practice  rendered  it  necessary  that  Hartley 
should  make  the  Oriental  languages  his  study,  in  order  to 
hold  communication  with  his  patients  without  the  inter- 
vention of  an  interpreter.  He  had  enough  of  opportuni- 
ties to  practise  as  a  linguist,  for,  in  acknowledgment  as  he 
used  jocularly  to  say,  of  the  large  fees  of  the  wealthy 
Moslemah  and  Hindoos,  he  attended  the  poor  of  all  na- 
tions gratis,  whenever  he  was  called  upon. 

It  so  chanced,  that  one  evening  he  was  hastily  sum- 
moned by  a  message  from  the  Secretary  of  the  Govern- 
ment, to  attend  a  patient  of  consequence.  "  Yet  he  is, 
after  all,  only  a  Fakir,"  said  the  message.  "  You  will 
5nd  him  at  the  tomb  of  Cara  Razi,  the  JVlahomedan  saint 
and  doctor,  about  one  coss  from  the  fort.  Inquire  for 
him  by  the  name  of  Barak  El  Hadgi.  Such  a  patienl 


THE    CANONGATE.  137 

promises  no  fees  ;  but  we  know  how  little  you  care  about 
the  pagodas  ;  and,  besides,  the  Government  5-  your  pay- 
master on  this  occasion." 

"That  is  the  last  matter  to  be  thought  on,"  said  Hart 
ley,  and  instantly  repaired  in  his  palanquin  to  the  place 
pointed  out  to  him. 

•  The  tomb  of  the  Ovvliah,  or  Mahomedan  Saint,  Cara 
Razi,  was  a  place  held  in  much  reverence  by  every  good 
Musselman.  It  was  situated  in  the  centre  of  a  grove  of 
mangos  and  tamarind-trees,  and  was  built  of  red  stone, 
having  three  domes,  and  minarets  at  every  corner.  There 
was  a  court  in  front,  as  usual,  around  which  were  cells 
constructed  for  the  accommodation  of  the  Fakirs  who  vis- 
ited the  tomb  from  motives  of  devotion,  and  made  a  long- 
er or  shorter  residence  there  as  they  thought  proper, 
subsisting  upon  the  alms  which  the  Faithful  never  fail  to 
bestow  on  them  in  exchange  for  the  benefit  of  their  prayers. 
These  devotees  were  engaged  day  and  night  in  reading 
verses  of  the  Koran  before  the  tomb,  which  was  construct- 
ed of  white  marble,  inscribed  with  sentences  from  the  book 
of  the  Prophet,  and  with  the  various  titles  conferred  by 
the  Koran  upon  the  Supreme  Being.  Such  a  sepulchre, 
of  which  there  are  many,  is,  with  its  appendages  and  at- 
tendants, respected  during  wars  and  revolutions,  and  no 
less  by  Feringis,  (Franks,  that  is,)  and  Hindoos,  than  by 
IVlahomedans  the*nselves.  The  Fakirs,  in  returli,  act  as 
spies  for  all  parties,  and  are  often  employed  in  secret 
missions  of  importance. 

Complying  with  the  Mahomedan  custom,  our  friend 
Hartley  laid  aside  his  shoes  at  the  gates  of  the  holy  pre- 
cincts, and  avoiding  to  give  offence  by  approaching  near 
to  the  tomb,  he  went  up  to  the  principal  j\loii]lah,  or  priest, 
who  was  distinguishable  by  the  length  of  his  beard,  and 
the  size  of  the  large  wooden  beads,  with  which  the  Ma- 
homedans,  like  the  Catholics,  keep  register  of  their 
prayers.  Such  a  person,  venerable  by  his  age,  sanctity 
of  character,  and  his  real  or  supposed  contempt  of  world- 

VOL.    II. 


138  CHRONICLES    OF 

ly  pursuits  and  enjoyments,  is  regarded  as  the  head  of  an 
establishment  of  this  kind. 

The  Moullah  is  permitted  by  his  situation  to  be  more 
communicative  with  strangers  than  his  younger  brethren, 
who  in  the  present  instance  remained  with  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  Koran,  muttering  their  recitations  without  noticing 
the  European,  or  attending  to  what  he  said,  as  he  inquii^d 
at  their  superior  for  Barak  el  Hadgi. 

The  Moullah  was  seated  on  the  earth,  from  which  he 
did  not  arise,  or  show  any  mark  of  reverence  ;  nor  did 
he  interrupt  the  tale  of  his  beads,  which  he  continued  to 
count  assiduously  while  Hartley  was  speaking.  When  he 
finished,  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes,  and  looking  at  him 
with  an  air  of  distraction,  as  if  he  was  endeavouring  to  re- 
collect whit  he  had  been  saying,  he  at  length  pointed  to 
one  of  the  cells,  and  resumed  his  devotions  like  one  who 
felt  impatient  of  whatever  withdrew  his  attention  from  his 
sacred  duties,  were  it  but  for  an  instant. 

Hartley  entered  the  cell  indicated,  with  the  usual  salu- 
tation of  Salam  Alaikum.  His  patient  lay  on  a  little  carpet 
in  a  corner  of  the  small  white-washed  cell.  He  was  a 
man  of  about  forty,  dressed  in  the  black  robe  of  his  order, 
very  much  torn  and  patched.  He  wore  a  high  conical 
cap  of  Tartarian  felt,  and  had  round  his  neck  the  string 
of  black  beads  belonging  to  his  order.  His  eyes  and 
posture 'indicated  suffering,  which  he  was  enduring  with 
stoical  patience. 

"  Salam  Alaikum,"  said  Hartley  ;  "  you  are  in  pain, 
rny  father  9" — a  title  which  he  gave  rather  to  the  profes- 
sion than  to  the  years  of  the  person  he  addressed. 

"  Salam  Alaikum  bema  sabastem,"  answered  the  Fakir  ; 
"  Well  is  it  for  you  that  you  have  suffered  patiently.  The 
Book  saith,  such  shall  be  the  greeting  of  the  angels  to 
Jiose  who  enter  paradise." 

The  conversation  being  thus  opened,  the  physician  pro- 
reeded  to  inquire  into  the  complaints  of  the  patient,  and 
to  prescribe  what  he  thought  advisable.  Having  done  this 
be  was  about  to  retire,  when,  to  his  great  surprise,  th<j 
FaK/r  tendered  him  a  ring  of  some  va  ue. 


THE    CANONGATK.  139 

"  The  wise,"  said  Hartley,  declining  the  present,  and 
at  the  sane  time  paying  a  suitable  compliment  to  the  Fa 
kir's  cap  and  robe, — "  the   wise   of  every   country   are 
brethren.     My  left  hand  takes  no  guerdon  of  my  riglit.' 

"  A  Feringi  can  then  refuse  gold  !"  said  the  Fakir 
"  I  thought  they  took  it  from  every  hand,  whether  pure 
as  that  of  an  Houri,  or  leprous  like  Gehazi's — even  as  the 
hungry  dog  recketh  not  whether  the  flesh  he  eateth  be  ol 
the  camel  of  the  prophet  Saleth.  Mr  of  the  ass  of  Degial 
— on  whose  head  be  curses  !" 

"  The  Book  says,"  replied  Haitley,  "  that  it  is  Allah 
who  closes  and  who  enlarges  the  heart.  Frank  and  Mus- 
selman  are  all  alike  moulded  by  his  pleasure." 

"  My  brother  hath  spoken  wisely,"  answered  the  pa- 
tient. "  Welcome  the  disease,  if  it  bring  thee  acquainted 
with  a  wise  physician.  For  what  saith  the  poet — '  It  is 
well  to  have  fallen  to  the  earth,  if  while  grovelling  there 
thoti  shall  discover  a  diamond.'  ' 

The  physician  made  repeated  visits  to  his  patient,  and 
continued  to  do  so  even  after  the  health  of  El  Hadgi  was 
entirely  restored.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  discerning  in 
him  one  of  those  secret  agents  frequently  employed  by 
Asiatic  Sovereigns.  His  intelligence,  his  learning,  above 
all,  his  versatility  and  freedom  from  prejudices  of  every 
kind,  left  no  doubt  of  Barak's  possessing  the  necessary 
qualifications  for  conducting  such  delicate  negotiations  ; 
while  his  gravity  of  habit  and  profession  could  not  prevent 
his  features  from  expressing  occasionally  a  perception  oi 
humour,  not  usually  seen  in  devotees  of  his  class. 

Barak  El  Hadgi  talked  often,  amidst  their  private  con- 
versations, of  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  Nawaub  of 
Mysore  ;  and  Hartley  had  little  doubt  that  he  came  from 
the  Court  of  Hyder  Ali,  on  some  secret  mission,  perhaps 
for  achieving  a  more  solid  peace  betwixt  that  able  and 
sagacious  Prince  and  the  East  India  Company's  Govern- 
ment,— that  which  existed  for  the  time  being  regarded  on 
both  parts  as  little  more  than  a  hollow  and  insincere  truce. 
He  told  many  stories  to  the  advantage  of  ibis  Prince,  who 
tferta.nly  was  one  of  the  wisest  that  Hindostan  coulH 


140  CIinONICLKS    OF 

boast ;  and  amidst  great  crimes,  perpetrated  to  gratify  his 
ambition,  displayed  many  instances  of  princely  generosity, 
and,  what  was  a  little  more  surprising,  of  even-handed 
justice. 

On  one  occasion,  shortly  before  Barak  El  Haclgi  left 
Madras,  he  visited  the  Doctor,  and  partook  of  his  sherbet, 
which  he  preferred  to  his  own,  perhaps  because  a  few 
glasses  of  rum  or  brandy  were  usually  added  to  enrich  the 
compound.  It  might  be  owing  to  repeated  applications 
to  the  jar  which  contained  this  generous  fluid,  that  the  Pil- 
grim became  more  than  usually  frank  in  his  communi- 
cations, and  not  contented  with  praising  his  Nawaub  with 
'.he  most  hyperbolic  eloquence,  he  began  to  insinuate  the 
influence  which  he  himself  enjoyed  with  the  Invincible, 
the  Lord  and  Shield  of  the  Faith  of  the  Prophet. 

"  Brother  of  my  soul,"  he  said,  "  do  but  think  if  thou 
needest  aught  that  the  all-powerful  Hyder  Ali  Khan  Ba- 
hauder  can  give  ;  and  then  use  not  the  intercession  of 
those  who  dwell  in  palaces,  and  wear  jewels  in  their  tur- 
bans, but  seek  the  cell  of  thy  brother  at  the  Great  City, 
which  is  Seringapatam.  And  the  poor  Fakir,  in  his  torn 
cloak,  shall  better  advance  thy  suit  with  the  Nawaub  [for 
Hyder  did  not  assume  the  title  of  Sultaun]  than  they  who 
sit  upon  seats  of  honour  in  the  Divan." 

With  these  and  sundry  other  expressions  of  regard,  he 
exhorted  Hartley  to  come  into  the  Mysore,  and  look  upon 
the  face  of  the  Great  Prince,  whose  glance  inspired  wis- 
dom, and  whose  nod  conferred  wealth,  so  that  Folly  or 
Poverty  could  not  appear  before  him.  He  offered  at  the 
same  time  to  requite  the  kindness  which  Hartley  had 
evinced  to  him,  by  showing  him  whatever  was  worthy  the 
attention  of  a  sage  in  the  land  of  Mysore. 

Hartley  was  not  reluctant  to  promise  to  undertake  the 
proposed  journey,  if  the  continuance  of  good  understand- 
ing betwixt  their  governments  should  render  it  practicable, 
and  in  reality  looked  forward  to  the  possibility  of  such  an 
^ven*.  with  a  good  deal  of  interest.  The  friends  parted 
with  mutual  good  wishes,  after  exchanging,  in  the  Orien- 
tal fashion,  such  gifts  as  became  sages,  to  whom  know- 


THE    CAXOXGATK.  141 

edge  was  to  be  supposed  dearer  than  wealth.  Barak  E 
Hadgi  presented  Hartley  with  a  small  quantity  of  the  bal- 
sam of  Mecca,  very  hard  to  be  procured  in  an  unadulter- 
ated form,  and  gave  him  at  the  same  time  a  passport  in  a 
peculiar  character,  which  he  assured  him  would  be  re- 
spected by  every  officer  of  the  Nawaub,  should  his  friend 
be  disposed  to  accomplish  his  visit  to  the  Mysore.  "  The 
head  of  him  who  should  disrespect  this  safe-conduct,"  he 
said,  "  shall  not  be  more  safe  than  that  of  the  barley-stalk 
which  the  reaper  has  grasped  in  his  hand." 

Hartley  requited  these  civilities  by  the  present  of  a  few 
medicines  little  used  in  the  East,  but  such  as  he  thought 
might,  with  suitable  directions,  be  safely  intrusted  to  a  man 
so  intelligent  as  his  Moslem  friend. 

It  was  several  months  after  Barak  had  returned  to  the 
•nterior  of  India,  that  Hartley  was  astonished  by  an  unex- 
pected rencounter. 

The  ships  from  Europe  had  but  lately  arrived,  and  had 
Drought  over  iheir  usual  cargo  of  boys  longing  to  be  com- 
manders, and  young  women,  without  any  purpose  of  being 
married,  but  whom  a  pious  duty  to  some  brother,  some 
uncle,  or  other  male  relative,  brought  to  India 'to  keep  his 
house,  until  they  should  find  themselves  unexpectedly  in 
one  of  their  own.  Doctor  Hartley  happened  to  attend  a 
public  breakfast  given  on  this  occasion  by  a  gentleman 
high  in  the  service.  The  roof  of  his  friend  had  been 
recently  enriched  by  a  consignment  of  three  neices,  whom 
the  old  gentleman,  justly  attached  to  his  quiet  hookah, 
and,  it  was  said,  to  a  pretty  girl  of  colour,  desired  to  offer 
to  the  public,  that  he  might  have  the  fairest  chance  to  gel 
rid  of  his  new  guests  as  soon  as  possible.  Hartley,  who 
was  thought  a  fish  worth  casting  a  fly  for,  was  contem- 
plating this  fair  investment  with  very  little  interest,  when 
lie  heard  one  of  the  company  say  to  another  in  a  low 
voice, 

"  Angels  and  ministers  !  there  is  01  r  old  acquaintance 
the  Quren  of  Sheba,  returned  upon  our  hands  liko  un 
saleable  goods." 


14142  CHRONICLES    OF 

Hartley  looked  in  the  same  direction  with  the  two  who 
were  speaking,  and  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  Semiramis- 
looking  person  of  unusual  stature  and  amplitude,  arrayed 
in  a  sort  of  riding  habit,  but  so  formed,  and  so  loop  'd  and 
gallooned  with  lace,  as  made  it  resemble  the  upper  tunic 
of  a  native  chief.  Her  robe  was  composed  of  crimson 
silk,  rich  with  flowers  of  gold.  She  wore  wide  trowsers 
of  light  blue  silk,  a  fine  scarlet  shawl  around  her  waist, 
in  which  was  stuck  a  creeze,  with  a  richly  ornamented 
handle.  Her  throat  and  arms  were  loaded  with  chains 
and  bracelets,  and  her  turban,  formed  of  a  shawl  similai 
to  that  worn  around  her  waist,  was  decorated  by  a  mag- 
nificent aigrette,  from  which  a  blue  ostrich  plume  flowed 
in  one  direction,  and  a  red  one  in  another.  The  brow,  ol 
European  complexion,  on  which  this  tiara  rested,  was  too 
ofty  for  beauty,  but  seemed  made  for  command  ;  the 
aquiline  nose  retained  its  form,  but  the  cheeks  were  a  little 
sunken,  and  the  complexion  so  very  brilliant,  as  to  give 
strong  evidence  that  the  whole  countenance  had  undergone 
a  thorough  repair  since  the  lady  had  left  her  couch.  A 
black  female  slave,  richly  dressed,  stood  behind  her  with 
a  chowry,  or  cow's  tail,  having  a  silver  handle,  which  she 
used  to  keep  off  the  flies.  From  the  mode  in  which  she 
was  addressed  by  those  who  spoke  to  her,  this  lady  ap- 
peared a  person  of  too  much  importance  to  be  affronted 
or  neglected,  and  yet  one  with  whom  none  desired  further 
communication  than  the  occasion  seemed  in  propriety  to 
demand. 

She  did  not,  however,  stand  in  need  of  attention.  The 
well-known  captain  of  an  East  Indian  vessel  lately  arrived 
from  Britain  was  sedulously  polite  to  her  ;  and  two  or 
three  gentlemen,  whom  Hartley  knew  to  be  engaged  in 
trade,  tended  upon  her  as  they  would  have  done  upon  the 
safety  of  a  rich  argosy. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  that  for  a  Zenobia  9' 
said  Hartley,  to  the  gentleman  whose  whisper  had  first 
attracted  his  attention  to  this  lofty  dame. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  do  not  know  the  Queen  of  Sheba  ?' 
said  the  person  of  whom  he  inquired,  no  way  loath  to 


THE    CANONGATE.  143 

t  imrnunicite  the  information  demanded.  "  You  must 
I  (OW,  then,  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  a  Scotch  emigrant, 
v.jio  iived  and  died  at  Pondicherry,  a  sergeant  in  Lilly's 
rt-giment.  She  managed  to  marry  a  partisan  officer 
named  Montreville,  a  Swiss  or  Frenchman,  I  cannot  tell 
which.  After  the  surrender  of  Pondicherry,  this  hero 
and  heroine — But  hey — what  the  devil  are  you  thinking 
of  *? — If  you  stare  at  her  that  way,  you  will  make  a  scene  ; 
for  she  will  think  nothing  of  scolding  you  across  the  table." 

But  without  attending  to  his  friend's  remonstrances. 
Hartley  bolted  from  the  table  at  which  he  sat,  and  made 
his  way,  with  something  less  than  the  decorum  which  the 
rules  of  society  enjoin,  towards  the  place  where  the  lady 
in  question  was  seated. 

"  The  Doctor  is  surely  mad  this  morning — "  said  his 
friend  Major  Mercer  to  old  Quarter-Master  Calder. 

Indeed  Hartley  was  not  perhaps  strictly  in  his  senses; 
for  looking  at  the  Queen  of  Sheba  as  he  listened  to  Ma- 
ior  Mercer,  his  eye  fell  on  a  light  female  form  beside  her, 
so  placed  as  if  she  desired  to  be  eclipsed  by  the  bulky- 
form  and  flowing  robes  we  have  described,  and  to  his 
extreme  astonishment,  he  recognized  the  friend  of  his 
childhood,  the  love  of  his  youth — Menie  Gray  herself  ! 

To  see  her  in  India  was  in  itself  astonishing.  To  see 
her  apparently  under  such  strange  patronage,  greatly  in- 
creased his  surprise.  To  make  his  way  to  her,  and  ad- 
dress her,  seemed  the  natural  and  direct  mode  of  satisfy- 
ing the  feelings  which  her  appearance  excited. 

His  impetuosity  was  however  checked,  when,  advanc- 
ing close  upon  Miss  Gray  and  her  companion,  he  observed 
that  the  former,  though  she  looked  at  bin),  exhibited  not 
fhe  slightest  token  of  recognition,  unless  he  could  interpret 
us  such,  that  she  slightly  touched  her  upper-lip  with  her 
forefinger,  which,  if  it  happened  otherwise  than  by  mere 
accident,  might  be  construed  to  mean,  "  Do  not  speak  to 
me  just  now."  Hartley,  adopting  such  an  interpretation, 
stood  stock  still,  blushing  deeply  ;  for  he  was  aware  thai 
be  made  for  the  moment  but  a  silly  figure. 


144  CHRONICLES    OF 

He  was  the  rather  convinced  of  this,  when,  with  a 
voice  which  in  the  force  of  its  accents  corresponded  with 
her  commanding  air,  Mrs.  Montreville  addressed  him  in 
English,  which  savoured  slightly  of  a  Swiss  patois, — 
"  You  haave  come  to  us  very  fast,  sir,  to  say  nothing  at  all. 
Are  you  sure  you  did  not  get  your  tongue  stolen  by  de 
way  T' 

"  J  thought  I  had  seen  an  old  friend  in  that  lady,  mad- 
am," stammered  Hartley,  "  but  it  seems  I  am  mistaken." 

"  The  good  people  do  tell  me  that  you  are  one  Doctors 
Hartley,  sir.  Now,  my  friend  and  I  do  not  know  Doctors 
Hartley  at  all." 

"  I  have  not  the  presumption  to  pretend  to  your  ac- 
quaintance, madam,  but  him " 

Here  Menie  repeated  the  sign  in  such  a  manner,  that 
though  it  was  only  momentary,  Hartley  could  not  misun- 
derstand its  purpose  ;  he  therefore  changed  the  end  ot 
his  sentence,  and  added,  "  But  1  have  only  to  make  my 
bow,  and  ask  pardon  for  my  mistake." 

He  retired  back  accordingly  among  the  company,  una- 
ble to  quit  the^room,  and  inquiring  at  those  whom  he  con- 
sidered as  the  best  newsmongers  for  such  information  as 
— "  Who  is  that  stately-looking  woman,  Mr.  Butler  9" 

"  Oh,  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  who  is  that  pretty  girl,  who  sits  beside  her'?" 

"  Or  rather  behind  her,"  answered  Butler,  a  military 
chaplain  ;  "  faith,  I  cannot  say — Pretty  did  you  call  her  9" 
turning  his  opera-glass  that  way — "  Yes,  faith,  she  is 
pretty — very  pretty — Gad,  she  shoots  her  glances  as 
smartly  from  behind  the  old  pile  yonder,  as  Teucer  from 
behind  Ajax  Telamon's  shield." 

"  But  who  is  she,  can  you  tell  me  9" 

"  Some  fair-skinned  speculation  of  old  Montreville's,  I 
suppose,  that  she  has  got  either  to  toady  herself,  or  take 
in  some  of  her  black  friends  with. — Is  it  possible  you  have 
never  heard  of  old  Mother  Montreville  "?" 

"  You  know  I  have  been  so  long  absent  from  Madras — ' 

"  Well,"  continued  Butler,  "  this  lady  is  the  widow  o 
a  Swiss  officer  in  the  French  service,  who,  after  the  sur 


THE    CANONGATE.  14£» 

render  of  Pondicherry,  went  off  into  the  interior,  and 
commenced  soldier  on  his  own  account.  He  got  posses- 
sion of  a  fort,  under  pretence  of  keeping  it  for  some  sim- 
ple Rajah  or  other  ;  assembled  around  him  a  parce.  ol 
desperate  vagabonds,  of  every  colour  in  the  rainbow  ; 
occupied  a  considerable  territory,  of  which  lie  raised  the 
duties  in  his  own  name,  and  declared  for  independence. 
But  Hyder  Naig  understood  no  such  interloping  proceed- 
ings, and  down  he  came,  besieged  the  fort  and  took  it, 
though  some  pretend  it  was  betrayed  to  him  by  this  very 
woman.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  poor  Swiss  was  found 
dead  on  the  ramparts.  Certain  it  is,  she  received  large 
sums  of  money,  under  pretence  of  paying  off  her  troops, 
surrendering  of  hill- forts,  and  Heaven  knows  what  be- 
sides. She  was  permitted  also  to  retain  some  insignia  of 
royalty  ;  and,  as  she  was  wont  to  talk  of  Hyder  as  the 
Eastern  Solomon,  she  generally  became  known  by  the 
title  of  Queen  of  Sheba.  She  leaves  her  court  when  she 
pleases,  and  has  been  as  far  as  Fort  St.  George  before 
now.  In  a  word,  she  does  pretty  much  as  she  likes. 
The  great  folks  here  are  civil  to  her,  though  they  look  on 
her  as  little  better  than  a  spy.  As  to  Hyder,  it  is  sup- 
posed he  has  insured  her  fidelity  by  borrowing  the  greater 
part  of  her  treasures,  which  prevents  her  from  daring  to 
break  with  him, — Besides  other  causes  that  smack  of 
scandal  of  another  sort." 

"  A  singular  story,"  replied  Hartley  to  his  companion, 
while  his  heart  dwelt  on  the  question,  How  it  was  possi- 
ble that  the  gentle  and  simple  Menie  Gray  should  be  in 
the  train  of  such  a  character  as  this  adventuress  9 

"  But  Butler  has  not  told  you  the  best  of  it,"  said  Ma- 
jor Mercer,  who  by  this  time  came  round  to  finish  his  own 
story.  "  Your  old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Tresham,  or  Mr. 
Middlernas,  or  whatever  else  he  chooses  to  be  called,  has 
been  complimented  by  a  report,  that  he  stood  very  high 
in  the  good  graces  of  this  same  Boadicea.  He  certainly 
commanded  some  troops  which  she  still  keeps  on  foot 
r  -»L.  ii. 


146 


CHRONICLES    OF 


and  acted  at  their  head  in  the  Navvaub's  service,  wl.j 
craftily  employed  him  in  whatever  could  render  him  ooi- 
ous  to  his  countrymen.  The  British  prisoners  were  en- 
trusted to  his  charge,  and,  to  judge  by  what  1  felt  myself 
the  devil  might  take  a  lesson  from  him  in  severity." 

"  And  was  he  attached  to,  or  connected  with,  this  wo- 
man 9" 

"  So  Mrs.  Rumour  told  us  in  our  dungeon.  Poor 
Jack  Ward  had  the  bastinado  for  celebrating  their  merits 
in  a  parody  on  the  playhouse  song. 

Sure  such  a  pair  were  never  seen, 
So  aptly  formed  to  meet  by  nature.'  " 

Hartley  could  listen  no  longer.  The  fate  of  Menie 
Gray,  connected  with  such  a  man  and  such  a  woman, 
rushed  on  h  s  fancy  in  the  most  horrid  colours,  and  he 
was  struggling  through  the  throng  to  get  to  some  place 
where  he  might  collect  his  ideas,  and  consider  what  could 
be  done  for  her  protection,  when  a  black  attendant  touch- 
ed his  arm,  and  at  the  same  time  slipt  a  card  into  his  hand. 
It  bore,  "  Miss  Gray,  Mrs.  Montreville's,  at  the  house  of 
Ram  Sing  Cottah,  in  the  Black  Town."  On  the  reverse 
was  written  with  a  pencil,  "  Eight  in  the  morning." 

This  intimation  of  her  residence  implied,  of  course,  a 
permission,  nay,  an  invitation,  to  wait  upon  her  at  the  hour 
specified.  Hartley's  heart  beat  at  the  idea  of  seeing  her 
once  more,  and  still  more  highly  at  the  thought  of  being 
able  to  serve  her.  At  least,  he  thought,  if  there  is  dan- 
ger near  her,  as  is  much  to  be  suspected,  she  shall  not 
want  a  counsellor,  or,  if  necessary,  a  protector.  Yet,  at 
the  same  time,  he  felt  the  necessity  of  making  himsell 
better  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  her  case,  and 
the  persons  with  whom  she  seemed  connected.  Butler 
and  Mercer  had  both  spoke  to  their  disparagement  ;  but 
Butler  was  a  little  of  a  coxcomb,  and  Mercer  a  great  deal 
of  a  gossip.  While  he  was  considering  what  credit  was 
due  to  their  testimony,  he  was  unexpectedly  encountered 
by  a  gentleman  of  his  own  profession,  a  military  surgeon, 
who  had  had  the  misfortune  to  have  been  in  Hyder'spris 


THE    CANOKGATE.  147 

an,  till  set  at  freedom  by  the  late  pacificatioi.  Mr  Es- 
dale,  for  so  he  was  called,  was  generally  esteemed  a  rising 
man,  calm,  steady,  and  deliberate  in  forming  his  opinions. 
Hartley  found  it  easy  to  turn  the  subject  on  the  Queen  ol 
Sheba,  by  asking  whether  her  Majesty  was  not  somewhat 
of  an  adventuress. 

"  On  my  word,  I  cannot  say,"  answered  Esdale,  smil- 
ing ;  "  we  are  all  upon  the  adventure  in  India,  more  or 
less  ;  but  I  do  not  see  that  the  Begum  Montreville  is  more 
so  than  the  rest." 

"  Why,  that  Amazonian  dress  and  manner,"  said  Hart- 
ley,  "  savour  a  little  of  the  picaresca" 

"  You  must  not,"  said  Esdale,  "  expect  a  woman  who 
has  commanded  soldiers,  and  may  again,  to  dress  and  look 
entirely  like  an  ordinary  person  ;  but  I  assure  you,  that 
even  at  this  time  of  day,  if  she  wished  to  marry,  she 
might  easily  find  a  respectable  match." 

"  Why,  I  heard  that  she  had  betrayed  her  husband's 
fort  to  Hyder." 

"  Ay,  that  is  a  specimen  of  Madras  gossip.  The  fact 
is,  that  she  defended  the  place  long  after  her  husband  fell, 
and  afterwards  surrendered  it  by  capitulation.  Hyder, 
who  piques  himself  on  observing  the  rules  of  justice, 
would  not  otherwise  have  admitted  her  to  such  intimacy." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard,"  replied  Hartley,  "  that  their  in- 
timacy was  rather  of  the  closest." 

"  Another  calumny,  if  you  mean  any  scandal,"  answer- 
ed Esdale.  "  Hyder  is  too  zealous  a  Mahomedan  to 
entertain  a  Christian  mistress  :  and  besides,  to  enjoy  the 
sort  of  rank  which  is  yielded  to  a  woman  in  her  condition, 
she  must  refrain,  in  appearance  at  least,  from  all  corres- 
pondence in  the  way  of  gallantry.  Just  so  they  said  that 
the  poor  woman  had  a  connexion  with  poor  Middlemas  ol 
i  he regiment." 

"  And  was  that  also  a  false  report  ?"  said  Hartley,  in 
breathless  anxiety. 

"  On  my  soul,  I  believe  it  was,"  answered  Mr.  Esdale. 
'  They  were  friends,  Europeans  in  an  Indian  court, 
and  therefore  intimate  ;  but.I  believe  nothing  more.  By 


148  CHRONICLES    OF 

the  by,  thjugh,  I  believe  there  was  some  quarrel  between 
Middlemas,  poor  fellow,  and  you;  yet  I  arn  sure  that  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear  there  is  a  chance  of  his  affair  being 
made  up  9" 

"  Indeed  !"  was  again  the  only  word  which  Hartley 
could  utter. 

'  Ay,  indeed,"  answered  Esdale.  "  The  duel  is  an 
old  story  now  ;  and  it  must  be  allowed  that  poor  Middle- 
mas, though  lie  was  rash  in  that  business,  had  provoca- 
tion." 

"  But  his  desertion — his  accepting  of  command  under 
Hyder — his  treatment  of  our  prisoners — How  can  all 
these  be  passed  over  9"  replied  Hartley. 

"  Why,  it  is  possible — I  speak  to  you  as  a  cautious 
man,  and  in  confidence — that  he  may  do  us  better  service 
in  Hyder's  capital,  or  Tippoo's  camp,  than  he  could  have 
done  if  serving  with  his  own  regiment.  And  then,  for 
his  treatment  of  prisoners,  I  am  sure  I  can  speak  nothing 
but  good  of  him  in  that  particular.  He  was  obliged  to 
take  the  office,  because  those  that  serve  Hyder  Naig, 
must  do  or  die.  But  he  told  me  himself — and  I  believe 
him — that  he  accepted  the  office  chiefly  because,  while  he 
made  a  great  bullying  at  us  before  the  black  fellows,  he 
could  privately  be  of  assistance  to  us.  Some  fools  could 
not  understand  this,  and  answered  him  with  abuse  and 
lampoons  ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  punish  them,  to  avoid 
suspicion.  Yes,  yes,  I  and  others  can  prove  he  was  wil- 
ling to  be  kind,  if  men  would  give  him  leave.  I  hope  to 
thank  him  at  Madras  one  day  soon. — All  this  in  confi- 
dence— Good  morrow  to  you." 

Distracted  by  the  contradictory  intelligence  he  had  re- 
ceived, Hartley  went  next  to  question  old  Captain  Cap- 
stern,  the  Captain  of  the  Jndiaman,  whom  he  had  observed 
in  attendance  upon  the  Begum  Montreville.  On  inquir- 
ing after  that  commander's  female  passengers,  he  heard  a 
pretty  long  catalogue  of  names,  in  which  that  he  was  so 
much  interested  in  did  not  occur.  On  closer  inquiry, 
Capstern  recollected  that  Menie  Gray,  a  young  Scotch- 
woman, had  come  out  under  charge  of  Mrs.  Dufft^,  the 


THE    CANONGATE.  140 

.naster's  wife.  "  A  good  decent  girl,"  Capstern  said 
*  and  kept  the  mates  and  guinea-pigs  at  a  respectable 
distance.  She  came  out,"  lie  believed,  "  \o  be  a  sort  o. 
female  companion,  or  upper-servant,  in  Madame  Montre- 
ville's  family.  Snug  birth  enough,"  he  concluded,  "  il 
she  can  find  the  length  of  the  old  girl's  foot." 

This  was   all  that  could   be   made  of  Capstern  ;    so 
Hartley  was  compelled  to  remain  in  a  state  of  uncertainty 
until  the  next  morning,  when  an  explanation  might  be  ex 
pected  with  Menie  Gray  in  person. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  exact  hour  assigned  found  Hartley  at  the  door  o 
the  rich  native  merchant,  who,  having  some  reasons  for 
wishing  to  oblige  the  Begum  Montreville,  had  relinquish- 
ed, for  her  accommodation  and  that  of  her  numerous 
retinue,  almost  the  whole  of  his  large  and  sumptuous  resi- 
dence in  the  Black  Town  of  Madras,  as  that  district  of 
the  city  is  called  which  the  natives  occupy. 

A  domestic,  at  the  first  summons,  ushered  the  visiter 
into  an  apartment,  where  he  expected  to  be  joined  by 
Miss  Gray.  The  room  opened  on  one  side  into  a  small 
garden  or  parterre,  filled  with  the  brilliant-coloured  flow- 
ers of  eastern  climates  ;  in  the  midst  of  which  the  waters 
of  a  fountain  rose  upwards  in  a  sparkling  jet,  and  fell 
back  again  into  a  white  marble  cistern. 

A  thousand  dizzy  recollections  thronged  on  the  mind 
of  Hartley,  whose  early  feelings  towards  the  companion 
of  his  youth,  if  they  had  slumbered  during  distance  and 
the  various  casualties  of  a  busy  life,  were  revived  when 
he  found  himself  placed  so  near  her,  and  in  circumstances 
which  interested  from  their  unexpected  occurrence  and 
547 


150    '  CHRONICLES    OF 

mysterious  character.  A  step  was  heard — the  doul 
opened — a  female  appeared — but  it  was  the  portly  form 
of  Madame  de  Montreville. 

"  What  you  do  please  to  want,  sir  ?"  said  the  lady  ; 
"  that  is,  'f  you  have  found  your  tongue  this  morning, 
which  you  had  lost  yesterday." 

"  1  proposed  myself  the  honour  of  waiting  upon  the 
young  person,  whom  I  saw  in  your  excellency's  company 
yesterday  morning,"  answered  Hartley,  with  assumed  re- 
spect. "  I  have  had  long  the  honour  of  being  known  to 
her  in  Europe,  and  J  desire  to  offer  my  services  to  her  in 
India." 

"  Much  obliged — much  obliged  ;  but  Miss  Gray  is 
gone  out,  and  does  not  return  for  one  or  two  days.  You 
may  leave  your  commands  with  me." 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  replied  Hartley  ;  "  but  1  have 
some  reason  to  hope  you  may  be  mistaken  in  this  matter 
— And  here  comes  the  lady  herself." 

"  How  is  this,  my  dear  9"  said  Mrs.  Montreville,  with 
unruffled  front,  to  Menie,  as  she  entered  ;  "  are  you  not 
gone  out  for  two  or  three  days,  as  1  tell  this  gentleman  "1 
— mais  c'est  egal — it  is  all  one  tiling.  You  will  say,  how 
d'ye  do,  and  goodbye,  to  Monsieur,  who  is  so  polite  as 
to  come  to  ask  after  our  healths,  and  as  he  sees  us  both 
ver)  well,  he  will  go  away  home  again." 

"  I  believe,  madam,"  said  Miss  Gray,  with  appearance 
of.  effort,  "  that  I  must  speak  with  this  gentleman  for  a 
few  minutes  in  private,  if  you  will  permit  us." 

"  That  is  to  say,  get  you  gone  9 — but  1  do  not  allow 
that — I  do  not  like  private  conversation  between  young 
man  and  pretty  young  woman  ;  cela  n'est  pas  honnete 
It  cannot  be  in  my  house." 

"  It  may  be  out  of  it,  then,  madam,"  answered  Miss 
Gray,  not  pettishly  nor  pertly,  but  with  the  utmost  simplic- 
ity.— "  Mr.  Hartley,  will  you  step  into  that  garden  9 — 
And  you,  madam,  may  observe  us  from  the  window,  if  i, 
oe  tl)p  fashion  of  the  country  to  watch  so  closely." 

As  she  spoke  this  she  stepped  through  a  lattice-door  into 
the  garden,  and  with  an  air  so  simple,  that  she  seemed  as 


THJB    CAJVONGATE.  151 

if  she  wished  to, comply  with  her  patroness's  ideas  of  de- 
corum, though  they  appeared  strange  to  her.  The 
Queen  of  Sheba,  notwithstanding  her  natural  assurance, 
was  disconcerted  by  the  composure  of  Miss  Gray's  man- 
ner, and  left  the  room,  apparently  in  displeasure.  Menie 
turned  back  to  the  door  which  opened  into  the  garden, 
and  said,  in  the  same  manner  as  before,  but  with  less  non- 
chalance,— 

"  J  am  sure  I  would  not  willingly  break  through  the 
rules  of  a  foreign  country  ;  but  I  cannot  refuse  myself 
the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  so  old  a  friend, — if,  indeed," 
she  added,  pausing  and  looking  at  Hartley,  who  was  much 
embarrassed,  "  it  be  as  much  pleasure  to  Mr.  Hartley  as 
it  is  to  me." 

"  It  would  have  been,"  said  Hartley,  scarce  knowing 
what  he  said — "  it  must  be,  a  pleasure  to  me  in  every 
circumstance — But  this  extraordinary  meeting — But  your 
father " 

Menie  Gray's  handkerchief  was  at  her  eyes. — "  He  is 
gone,  Mr.  Hartley.  After  he  was  left  unassisted,  his 
toilsome  business  became  too  much  for  him — he  caught 
a  cold,  which  hung  about  him,  as  you  know  he  was  the 
last  to  attend  to  bis  own  complaints,  till  it  assumed  a  dan- 
gerous, and,  finally,  a  fatal  character.  I  distress  yon, 
Mr.  Hartley,  but  it  becomes  you  well  to  be  affected.  My 
father  loved  you  dearly." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Gray  !"  said  Hartley,  "  it  should  not  have 
been  thus  with  my  excellent  friend  at  the  close  of  his 
useful  and  virtuous  life — Alas,  wherefore — the  question 
bursts  from  me  involuntarily — wherefore  could  you  not 
have  complied  with  his  wishes  *?  wherefore " 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  said  she,  stopping  the  question 
ivhich  was  on  his  lips  ;  "  we  are  not  the  formers  of  our 
own  destiny.  It  is  painful  to  talk  on  such  a  subject;  but 
for  once,  and  for  ever,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  should  have 
done  Mr.  Hartley  wrong,  if,  even  to  secure  his  assistance 
'o  my  father,  1  had  accepted  his  hand,  while  my  way- 
ward affections  did  not  accompany  the  act." 


152  CllKOiMCLES    OF 

"  But  wherefore  do  I  see  you  here,  Meuie  *? — Forgive 
me,  Miss  Gray,  my  tongue  as  well  as  my  heart  turns  back 
to  long-forgotten  scenes — But  why  here  *? — why  with  this 
woman  "?" 

"  She  is  not,  indeed,  every  thing  that  I  expected,"  an- 
swered Menie  Gray  ;  "  but  1  must  not  be  prejudiced  by 
foreign  manners,  after  the  step  I  have  taken — She  is,  be- 
sides, attentive,  and  generous  in  her  way,  and  1  shall 
soon — "  she  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  be 
under  better  protection." 

"  That  of  Richard  Middlemas  ?"  said  Hartley  with  a 
faltering  voice. 

"  I  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  answer  the  question,"  said 
Menie ;  "  but  I  am  a  bad  dissembler,  and  those  whom  I 
(rust,  I  trust  entirely.  You  have  guessed  right,  Mr. 
Hartley,"  she  added,  colouring  a  good  deal,  "  J  have 
come  hither  to  unite  my  fate  to  that  of  your  old  com- 
rade." 

"  It  is,  then,  just  as  I  feared  !"  exclaimed  Hartley. 

"  And  why  should  Mr.  Hartley  fear  9"  said  Menie 
Gray.  "  I  used  to  think  you  too  generous — surely  the 
quarrel  which  occurred  long  since  ought  not  to  perpetuate 
suspicion  and  resentment." 

"  At  least,  if  the  feeling  of  resentment  remained  in  my 
own  bosom,  it  would  be  the  last  I  should  intrude  upon 
you,  Miss  Gray,"  answered  Hartley.  "  But  it  is  for  you, 
and  for  you  alone,  that  I  am  watchful. — This  person — 
this  gentleman  whom  you  mean  to  intrust  with  your  hap- 
piness— do  you  know  where  he  is — and  in  what  service  ?" 

"  I  know  both,  more  distinctly  perhaps  than  Mr.  Hart- 
ley can  do.  Mr.  Middlemas  has  erred  greatly,  and  has 
been  severely  punished.  But  it  was  not  in  the  time  ot 
his  exile  and  sorrow,  that  she  who  has  plighted  her  faith 
to  him  should,  with  the  flattering  world,  turn  her  back 
upon  him.  Besides,  you  have,  doubtless,  not  hearf"  of  hi? 
hopes  of  being  restored  to  his  country  and  his  rank  ?" 

"  I  have,"  answered  Hartley,  thrown  off  h:s  guard  , 
'  but  I  see  not  how  he  can  deserve  it,  otherwise  than  by 
becoming  a  traitor  to  his  new  master,  and  thus  rendering 


THE    CANONGATR.  153 

himself  even  more  unworthy  of  confidence  tl  ar  J  hold 
him  to  be  at  this  moment." 

"  It  is  well  that  he  hears  you  not,"  answered  Menie 
day,  resenting,  with  natural  feeling,  the  imputation  on 
her  lover.  Then  instantly  softening  her  tone,  she  added, 
"  My  voice  ought  not  to  aggravate,  but  to  soothe  your 
quarrel.  Mr.  Hartley,  I  plight  my  word  to  you  that  you 
do  Richard  wrong." 

She  said  these  words  with  affecting  calmness,  suppress- 
ing all  appearance  of  that  displeasure,  of  which  she  was 
evidently  sensible,  upon  this  depreciation  of  a  beloved 
object. 

Hartley  compelled  himself  to  answer  in  the  same  strain. 

"  Miss  Gray,"  he  said,  "  your  actions  and  motives  will 
always  be  those  of  an  'angel  ;  but  let  me  entreat  you  to 
view  this  most  important  matter  with  the  eyes  of  worldly 
wisdom  and  prudence.  Have  you  well  weighed  the 
risks  attending  the  course  which  you  are  taking  in  favour 
of  a  man,  who — nay,  I  will  not  again  offend  you — who 
may,  I  hope,  deserve  your  favour  *?" 

"  When  J  wished  to  see  you  in  this  manner,  Mr.  Hart- 
ley, and  declined  a  communication  in  public,  where  we 
could  have  had  less  freedom  of  conversation,  it  was  with 
the  view  of  telling  you  every  thing.  Some  pain  I  thought 
old  recollections  might  give,  but  I  trusted  it  would  be  mo- 
mentary ;  and,  as  I  desire  to  retain  your  friendship,  it  is 
proper  I  should  show  that  1  still  deserve  it.  I  must  then 
first  tell  you  my  situation  after  my  father's  death.  In  the 
world's  opinion,  we  were  always  poor,  you  know  ;  but  in 
the  proper  sense  I  had  not  known  what  real  poverty  was 
until  I  was  placed  in  dependence  upon  a  distant  relation 
of  my  poor  father,  who  made  our  relationship  a  reason 
for  casting  upon  me  all  the  drudgery  of  her  household, 
while  she  would  not  allow  that  it  gave  me  a  claim  to  coun- 
lenance,  kindness,  or  anything  but  the  relief  of  my  most 
pressing  wants.  In  these  circumstances  I  received  from 
Mr.  Midcllemas  a  letter,  in  which  he  related  his  fatal  duel, 
and  its  consequence.  He  had  not  dared  to  write  to  me 
to  share  his  misery — Now,  when  he  was  in  a  lucrative 


154  CHRONICLES    OF 

situation,  under  the  patronage  of  a  powerful  prince,  whose 
wisdom  knew  how  to  prize  and  protect  such  Europeans 
as  entered  his  service — now,  when  he  had  every  prospcet 
of  rendering  our  government  such  essential  service  by  his 
interest  with  Hyder  Ali,  and  might  eventually  nourish 
hopes  of  being  permitted  to  return  and  stand  his  trial  for 
the  death  of  his  commanding  officer — now,  he  pressed 
me  to  come  to  India,  and  share  his  reviving  fortunes,  by 
accomplishing  the  engagement  into  which  we  had  long 
ago  entered.  A  considerable  sum  of  money  accompanied 
this  letter.  Mrs.  Duffer  was  pointed  out  as  a  respectable 
woman,  who  would  protect  me  during  the  passage.  Mrs. 
Montreville,  a  lady  of  rank,  having  large  possessions  and 
high  interest  in  the  Mysore,  would  receive  me  on  my  ar- 
rival at  Fort  St.  George,  and  conduct  me  safely  to  the 
dominions  of  Hyder.  It  was  further  recommended,  that, 
considering  the  peculiar  situation  of  Mr.  Middlemas,  his 
name  should  be  concealed  in  the  transaction,  and  that  the 
ostensible  cause  of  my  voyage  should  be  to  fill  an  office 
in  that  lady's  family. — What  was  I  to  do  9 — My  duty  to 
my  poor  father  was  ended,  and  my  other  friends  consid- 
ered the  proposal  as  too  advantageous  to  be  rejected. 
The  references  given,  the  sum  of  money  lodged,  were 
considered  as  putting  all  scruples  out  of  the  question,  and 
my  immediate  protectress  and  kinswoman  was  so  earnest 
that  I  should  accept  of  the  offer  made  me,  as  to  intimate 
that  she  would  not  encourage  me  to  stand  in  my  own 
light,  by  continuing  to  give  me  shelter  and  food,  (she  gave 
me  little  more,)  if  I  was  foolish  enough  to  refuse  com- 
pliance." 

"  Sordid  wretch  !"  said  Hartley,  "  how  little  did  she 
deserve  such  a  charge  !" 

"  Let  me  speak  a  proud  word,  Mr.  Hartley,  and  then 
you  will  not  perhaps  blame  my  relations  so  much.  Ali 
their  persuasions,  and  even  their  threats,  would  have  fail- 
ed in  inducing  me  to  take  a  step,  which  has  an  appeal  - 
ance,  at  least,  to  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  reconcile  my- 
self But  I  had  loved  Middlemas — I  love  him  still-- why 
should  1  deny  it  9 — and  1  have  not  hesitated  to  trust  him 


TTIK    CANONGATB.  155 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  small  still  voice  which  reminded 
me  of  my  engagements,  1  had  maintained  more  stubborn- 
ly the  pride  of  womanhood,  and,  as  you  world  perhaps 
have  recommended,  I  might  have  expected,  at  least,  that 
my  lover  should  have  come  to  Britain  in  person,  and 
might  have  had  the  vanity  to  think,"  she  added,  smiling 
faintly,  "  that  if  I  were  worth  having,  I  was  worth  fetch- 
ing." 

"  Yet  now — even  now,"  answered  Hartley,  "  be  just 
to  yourself  while  you  are  generous  to  your  lover. — 
Nay,  do  not  look  angrily,  but  hear  me.  J  doubt  the  pro- 
priety of  your  being  under  the  charge  of  this  unsexed 
woman,  who  can  no  longer  be  termed  a  European.  I 
have  interest  enough  with  females  of  the  highest  rank  in 
the  settlement — this  climate  is  that  of  generosity  and 
hospitality — there  is  not  one  of  them,  who,  knowing  your 
character  and  history,  will  not  desire  to  have  you  in  her 
society,  and  under  her  protection,  until  your  lover  shall 
be  able  to  vindicate  his  title  to  your  hand  in  the  face  ol 
the  world. — I  myself  will  be  no  cause  of  suspicion  to 
him,  or  of  inconvenience  to  you,  Menie.  Let  me  bul 
have  your  consent  to  the  arrangement  I  propose,  and  the 
same  moment  that  sees  you  under  honourable  and  unsus- 
pected protection,  I  will  leave  Madras,  not  to  return  till 
your  destiny  is  in  one  way  or  other  permanently  fixed." 

"  No,  Hartley,"  said  Miss  Gray.  "  It  may,  it  must 
be,  friendly  in  you  thus  to  advise  me  ;  but  it  would  be 
most  base  in  me  to  advance  my  own  affairs  at  the  ex- 
pense of  your  prospects.  Besides,  what  would  this  be 
but  taking  the  chance  of  contingencies,  with  the  view  of 
sharing  poor  Middlemas's  fortunes,  should  they  prove 
prosperous-  and  casting  him  off,  should  they  be  other- 
wise 9  Tell  me  only,  do  you,  of  your  own  positive 
knowledge,  aver  that  you  consider  this  woman  as  an  un- 
worthy and  unfit  protectress  for  so  young  a  person  as  1 
am*?" 

"  Of  my  own  knowledge  I  can  say  nothing  :  nay,  I 
must  own,  that  reports  differ  even  concerning  Mrs.  Mon- 
ireville's  character.  But  surely  the  mere  suspicion — M 


CHRONICLES    OF 

"  rFhe  mere  suspicion,  Mr.  Hartley,  can  have  no  weight 
with  me,  considering  that  I  can  oppose  to  it  the  testimony 
of  the  man  with  whom  I  am  willing  to  share  my  future 
fortunes.  You  acknowledge  the  question  is  but  doubtful, 
and  should  not  the  assertion  of  him,  of  whom  1  think  so 
highly,  decide  my  belief  in  a  doubtful  matter  9  What, 
indeed,  must  he  be,  should  this  Madame  Montreville  be 
other  than  he  represented  her  9" 

"  What  must  he  be,  indeed  !"  thought  Hartley  inter- 
nally, but  his  lips  uttered  not  the  words.  He  looked 
down  in  a  deep  reverie,  and  at  length  started  from  it  at 
the  words  of  Miss  Gray. 

"  It  is  time  to  remind  you,  Mr.  Hartley,  that  we  must 
needs  part.  God  bless  and  preserve  you  !" 

"  And  you,  dearest  Menie,"  exclaimed  Hartley,  as  he 
sunk  on  one  knee,  and  pressed  to  his  lips  the  hand  which 
she  held  out  to  him,  "  God  bless  you  ! — you  must  de- 
serve blessing.  God  protect  you  ! — you  must  need  pro- 
tection.— Oh,  should  things  prove  different  from  what  you 
hope,  send  for  me  instantly,  and  if  man  can  aid  you, 
Adam  Hartley  will !" 

He  placed  in  her  hand  a  card  containing  his  address. 
He  then  rushed  from  the  apartment.  In  the  hall  he  met 
the  lady  of  the  mansion,  who  made  him  a  haughty  rev- 
erence in  token  of  adieu,  while  a  native  servant  of  the 
upper  class,  by  whom  she  was  attended,  made  a  low  and 
reverential  salam. 

Hartley  hastened  from  the  Black  Town,  more  satisfied 
than  before  that  some  deceit  was  about  to  be  practised 
towards  Menie  Gray — more  determined  than  ever  to 
exert  himself  for  her  preservation  ;  yet  more  completely 
perplexed,  when  he  began  to  consider  the  doubtful  char- 
acter of  the  danger  to  which  she  might  be  exposed,  and 
the  scanty  means  of  protection  which  he  had  to  oppose 
to  it. 


THE    CANONGATE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


As  Hartley  left  the  apartment  in  the  house  of  Ram  Sing 
Cottah  by  one  mode  of  exit,  Miss  Gray  retired  by  anoth- 
er, to  an  apartment  destined  for  her  private  use.  She, 
too,  had  reason  for  secret  and  anxious  reflection,  since 
all  her  love  for  Middlemas,  and  her  full  confidence  in  his 
honour,  could  not  entirely  conquer  her  doubts  concerning 
the  character  of  the  person  whom  he  had  chosen  for  her 
temporary  protectress.  And  yet  she  could  not  rest  these 
doubts  upon  anything  distinctly  conclusive  ;  it  was  rather 
a  dislike  of  her  patroness's  general  manners,  and  a  dis- 
gust at  her  masculine  notions  and  expressions,  that  dis- 
pleased her,  than  anything  else. 

Meantime,  Madame  Montreville,  followed  by  her  black 
domestic,  entered  the  apartment  where  Hartley  and  Menie 
Gray  had  just  parted.  It  appeared  from  the  conversation 
which  follows,  that  they  had  from  some  place  of  conceal- 
ment overheard  the  dialogue  we  have  narrated  in  the 
former  chapter. 

"  It  is  good  luck,  Sadoc,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  there  is 
in  this  world  the  great  fool." 

"  And  the  great  villain,"  answered  Sadoc,  in  good 
English,  but  in  a  most  sullen  tone. 

"  This  woman,  now,"  continued  the  lady,  "  is  what  in 
Frangistan  you  call  an  angel." 

"  Ay,  and  I  have  seen  those  in  Hindostan  you  may 
well  call  devil." 

"  I  am  sure  that  this — how  you  call  him — Hartley, 
if  a  meddling  devil.  For,  what  has  he  to  do  ?  She 
will  not  have  any  of  him.  What  is  his  business  who  has 
her  ?  I  wish  we  were  well  up  the  Ghauts  again,  my  deal 
Sadoc. 

18       VOL.   II. 


168 


CHRONICLES    OF 


"  For  my  part,"  answered  the  slave,  "  I  am  half  de- 
termined never  to  ascend  the  Ghauts  more.  Hark  you. 
Adela,  I  begin  to  sicken  of  the  plan  we  have  laid.  This 
creature's  confiding  purity — call  her  angel  or  woman,  as 
jou  will — makes  my  practices  appear  too  vile  even  in 
my  own  eyes.  I  feel  myself  unfit  to  be  your  companion 
farther  in  the  daring  paths  which  you  pursue.  Let  us 
part,  and  part  friends." 

"  Amen,  coward.  But  the  woman  remains  with  me," 
answered  the  Queen  of  Sheba."* 

"  With  thee  !"  replied  the  seeming  black — "  never. 
No,  Adela.  She  is  under  the  shadow  of  the  British  flag, 
and  she  shall  experience  its  protection." 

"  Yes — and  what  protection  will  it  afford  to  you  your- 
self?" retorted  the  Amazon.  "  What  if  I  should  clap 
my  hands,  and  command  a  score  of  my  black  servants  to 
bind  you  like  a  sheep,  and  then  send  word  to  the  Gov- 
ernor of  the  Presidency  that  one  Richard  Middlemas, 
who  had  been  guilty  of  mutiny,  murder,  desertion,  and 
serving  of  the  enemy  against  his  countrymen,  is  here,  at 
Ram  Sing  Cottah's  house,  in  the  disguise  of  a  black  ser- 
vant ?"  Middlemas  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  while 
Madame  Montreville  proceeded  to  load  him  with  reproach- 
es.— "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  slave,  and  son  of  a  slave  ! 
Since  you  wear  the  dress  of  my  household,  you  shall 
obey  me  as  fully  as  the  rest  of  them,  otherwise, — whips, 
fetters — the  scaffold,  renegade, — the  gallows,  murderer  ! 
Dost  thou  dare  to  reflect  on  the  abyss  of  misery  from 
which  I  raised  thee,  to  share  my  wealth  and  my  affec- 
tions 9  Dost  thou  not  remember  that  the  picture  of  this 
pale,  cold,  unimpassioned  girl,  was  then  so  indifferent  to 
thee,  that  thou  didst  sacrifice  it  as  a  tribute  due  to  the  benev- 
olence of  her  who  relieved  thee,  to  the  affection  of  her 
who,  wretch  as  thou  art,  condescended  to  love  thee  ?" 

"  Yes,  fell  woman,"  answered  Middlemas ;  "  but  was 


*  In  order  to  maintain  uninjured  the  tone  of  passion  throughout  this  dialogue, 
it  has  boon  judged  expedient  to  discard,  in  the  language  of  the  Bigum,  the 
patcis  of  Madame  Montrevule. 


THE    CANOXOATE.  «) 

it  I  who  encouraged  the  young  tyrant's  outrageous  pas- 
sion for  a  portrait,  or  who  formed  the  abominable  plan  ol 
placing  the  original  within  his  power  ?" 

"  No — for  to  do  so  required  brain  and  wit.  But  i 
was  thine,  flimsy  villain,  to  execute  the  device  which  a 
bolder  genius  planned  ;  it  was  thine  to  entice  the  woman 
to  this  foreign  shore,  under  pretence  of  a  love,  which,  on 
thy  part,  cold-blooded  miscreant,  never  had  existed." 

"  Peace,  screech-owl  !"  answered  AJiddlemas,  "  nor 
drive  me  to  such  madness  as  may  lead  me  to  forget  thou 
art  a  woman." 

"  A  woman,  dastard  !  Is  this  thy  pretext  for  sparing 
me  "] — what,  then,  art  thou,  who  tremblest  at  a  woman's 
looks,  a  woman's  words  ? — 1  am  a  woman,  renegade,  but 
one  who  wears  a  dagger,  and  despises  alike  thy  strength 
and  thy  courage.  1  am  a  woman,  who  has  looked  on 
more  dying  men  than  thou  hast  killed  deer  and  antelopes. 
Thou  must  traffic  for  greatness  9 — thou  hast  thrust  thyself 
like  a  five-years'  child,  into  the  rough  sports  of  men,  and 
wilt  only  be  borne  down  and  crushed  for  thy  pains. 
Thou  wilt  be  a  double  traitor,  forsooth — betray  thy  be- 
trothed to  the  Prince,  in  order  to  obtain  the  means  of 
betraying  the  Prince  to  the  English,  and  thus  gaio  thy 
pardon  from  thy  countrymen.  But  me  thou  shall  not 
betray.  I  will  not  be  made  the  tool  of  thy  ambition — I 
will  not  give  thee  the  aid  of  my  treasures  and  my  soldiers, 
to  be  sacrificed  at  last  to  this  nothern  icicle.  No,  I  will 
watch  thee  as  the  fiend  watches  the  wizard.  Show  but 
a  symptom  of  betraying  me  while  we  are  here,  and  I  de- 
nounce thee  to  the  English,  who  might  pardon  the  suc- 
cessful villain,  but  not  him  who  can  only  offer  prayers  for 
his  life,  in  place  of  useful  services.  Let  me  see  thee 
flinch  when  we  are  beyond  the  Ghauts,  and  the  Nawaub 
shall  know  thy  intrigues  with  the  Nizam  and  the  Mahrat- 
tas,  and  thy  resolution  to  deliver  up  Bangalore  to  the 
English,  when  the  imprudence  of  Tippoo  shall  have  made 
i.hee  Killedar.  Go  where  fhou  wilt,  slave,  thou  shall  find 
*ne  thy  mistress." 


160  CHPONICLKS    OB 

"  And  a  fair,  though  an  unkind  one,"  said  the  cou.a 
,*irfeit  Sadoc,  suddenly  changing  his  tone  to  an  affectation 
of  tenderness.  "  It  is  true,  I  pity  this  unhappy  woman  ; 
true  1  would  save  her  if  I  could — but  most  unjust  tc 
suppose  I  would  in  any  circumstances  prefer  her  to  rn} 
Nourjehan,  my  light  of  the  world,  my  Mootee  Mahulj 
my  pearl  of  the  palace " 

"  All  false  coin  and  empty  compliment,"  said  the  Be- 
gum. "  Let  me  hear,  in  two  brief  words,  that  you  leave 
this  woman  to  my  disposal." 

"  But  not  to  be  interred  alive  under  your  seat,  like  the 
Circassian  of  whom  you  were  jealous,"  said  Middlemas, 
shuddering. 

"  No,  fool ;  her  lot  shall  not  be  worse  than  that  ot 
being  the  favourite  of  a  prince.  Hast  thou,  fugitive  and 
criminal  as  thou  art,  a  better  fate  to  offer  her  *?" 

"  But,"  replied  Middlemas,  blushing  even  through  his 
base  disguise  at  the  consciousness  of  his  abject  conduct 
"  I  will  have  no  force  on  her  inclinations." 

"  Such  truce  she  shall  have  as  the  laws  of  the  Zenana 
allow,"  replied  the  female  tyrant.  "  A  week  is  long 
enough  for  her  to  determine  whether  she  will  be  the  wil- 
ling mistress  of  a  princely  and  generous  lover." 

"  Ay,"  said  Richard,  "  and  before  that  week  ex- 
pires  "  He  stopped  short. 

"  What  will  happen  before  the  week  expires  ?"  said 
the  Begum  Montreville. 

"  No  matter — nothing  of  consequence.  I  leave  the 
woman's  fate  with  you." 

"  'Tis  well — we  march  to-night  on  our  return,  so  soon 
as  the  moon  rises.  Give  orders  to  our  retinue." 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  replied  the  seeming  slave,  and 
left  the  apartment. 

The  eyes  of  the  Begum  remained  fixed  on  the  door 
through  which  he  had  passed.  "  Villain — double-dyed 
villain  !"  she  said,  "  I  see  thy  drift ;  thou  wouldst  betray 
Tippoo,  in  policy  alike  and  in  love.  But  me  thou  canst 
not  betray. — Ho,  there,  who  waits?  Let  a  trusty  mes- 
sei'gei*  oe  ready  to  $<>.{  off  instantly  with  letters,  which  I 


THE    CANOJVGATE.  16  i 

will  presently  make  ready.  His  departure  must  be  a 
secret  to  every  one. — And  now  shall  this  pale  phantom 
soon  know  her  destiny,  and  learn  what  it  is  to  have  rivalled 
Adela  Montreville." 

While  the  Amazonian  Princess  meditated  plans  of  ven- 
geance against  her  innocent  rival  and  the  guilty  lover, 
the  latter  plotted  as  deeply  for  his  own  purposes.  He 
had  waited  until  such  brief  twilight  as  India  enjoys  ren- 
dered his  disguise  complete,  then  set  out  in  haste  for  the 
part  of  Madras  inhabited  by  the  Europeans,  or,  as  it 
is  termed,  Fort  St.  George. 

"  1  will  save  her  yet,"  he  said  ;  "  ere  Tippoo  can 
seize  his  prize,  we  will  raise  around  his  ears  a  storm  which 
would  drive  the  God  of  War  from  the  arms  of  the  God- 
dess of  Beauty.  The  trap  shall  close  its  fangs  upon  this 
Indian  tiger,  ere  he  has  time  to  devour  the  bait  which 
enticed  him  into  the  snare." 

While  .Middlemas  cherished  these  hopes,  he  approached 
the  Residency.  The  sentinel  on  duty  stopped  him,  as 
of  course,  but  he  was  in  possession  of  the  counter-sign, 
and  entered  without  opposition.  He  rounded  the  building 
in  which  the  President  of  the  Council  resided,  an  able 
and  active,  but  unconscientious  man,  who,  neither  in  his 
own  affairs,  nor  in  those  of  the  Company,  was  supposed 
to  embarrass  himself  much  about  the  means  which  he 
used  to  attain  his  object.  A  tap  at  a  small  postern-gate 
was  answered  by  a  black  slave,  who  admitted  Middlemas 
to  that  necessary  appurtenance  of  every  government,  a 
back  stair,  which,  in  its  turn,  conducted  him  to  the  office 
of  the  Bramin  Paupiah,  the  Dubash,  or  steward  of  the 
great  man,  and  by  whose  means  chiefly  he  communicated 
with  the  native  courts,  and  carried  on  many  mysterious 
intrigues,  which  he  did  not  communicate  to  his  brethren 
at  the  council-board. 

It  is  perhaps  justice  to  the  guilty  and  unhappy  Middle- 

rnas  to  suppose,  that  if  the  agency  of  a   British  officer 

had  been  employed,  he  might  have  been  induced  to  throw 

himself  on  his  mercy,  might  have  explained  the  whole  of 

VOL.   "i. 


t.  CHRONICLES    Of 

nts  nefarious  bargain  with  Tippoo,  and,  renouncing  h'i3 
guilty  projects  of  ambition,  might  have  turned  his  whole 
thoughts  upon  saving  Menie  Gray,  ere  she  was  transported 
beyond  the  reach  of  British  protection.  But  the  thin 
dusky  form  which  stood  before  him,  wrapped  in  robes 
of  muslin  embroidered  with  gold,  was  that  of  Panpiah 
known  as  a  master-counsellor  of  dark  projects,  an  Ori- 
ental Machiavel,  whose  premature  wrinkles  were  the  re- 
sult of  many  an  intrigue,  in  which  the  existence  of  the 
poor,  the  happiness  of  the  rich,  the  honour  of  men,  and 
the  chastity  of  women,  had  been  sacrificed  without  scru- 
ple to  attain  some  private  or  political  advantage.  He  did 
not  even  inquire  by  what  means  the  renegade  Briton 
proposed  to  acquire  that  influence  with  Tippoo  which 
might  enable  him  to  betray  him — he  only  desired  to  be 
assured  that  the  fact  was  real. 

"  You  speak  at  the  risk  of  your  head,  if  you  deceive 
Paupiah,  or  make  Paupiah  the  me  ins  of  deceiving  his 
master.  1  know,  so  does  all  Madras,  that  the  Nawaub 
has  placed  his  young  son,  Tippoo,  as  Vice-Regent  of  his 
newly-conquered  territory  of  Bangalore,  which  Hyder 
hath  lately  added  to  his  dominions.  But  that  Tippoo 
should  bestow  the  government  of  that  important  place  on 
an  apostate  Feringi,  seems  more  doubtful." 

"  Tippoo  is  young,"  answered  Middlemas,  "  and  to 
youth  the  temptation  of  the  passions  is  what  a  lily  on  the 
surface  of  the  lake  is  to  childhood — they  will  risk  life  to 
reach  it,  though,  when  obtained,  it  is  of  little  value.  Tip- 
poo has  the  cunning  of  his  father  and  his  military  talents, 
but  he  lacks- his  cautious  wisdom." 

"  Thou  speakest  truth — but  when  thuu  art  Governoi 
of  Bangalore,  hast  ihou  forces  to  Ifold  the  place  till  thou 
art  relieved  by  the  Mahrattas,  or  by  the  British  9" 

"  Doubt  it  not — the  soldiers  of  the  Begum  Moctee 
Vlahul,  whom  the  Europeans  call  Montreville,  are  jess 
hers  than  mine.  I  am  myself  her  Bukshee,  (General,)  and 
her  Sirdars  are  at  my  devotion.  With  these  I  could  keep 
Bangalore  for  tw^  months,  and  the  British  army  may  be 


THE    CANONGATE.  163 

oefore  it  in  a  week.     What  do  you  risk  by  advancing 
General  Smith's  army  nearer  to  the  frontier  ?" 

"  We  risk  a  settled  peace  with  Hyder,"  answered 
Paupiah,  "  for  which  he  has  made  advantageous  offers. 
Yet  I  say  not  but  thy  plan  may  be  most  advantageous. 
Thou  sayest  Tippoo's  treasures  are  in  the  fort  '?" 

"  His  treasures  and  his  Zenana  ;  I  may  even  be  r.ble 
\o  secure  his  person." 

"  That  were  a  goodly  pledge — "  answered  the  Hin- 
doo minister. 

"  And  you  consent  that  the  treasures  shall  be  divided 
to  the  last  rupee,  as  in  this  scroll  ?" 

"  The  share  of  Paupiab's  master  is  too  small,"  said 
the  Brarnin  ;  "  and  the  name  of  Paupiah  is  unnoticed." 

"  The  share  of  the  Begum  may  be  divided  between 
Paupiah  and  his  master,"  answered  Middlemas. 

"  But  the  Begum  will  expect  her  proportion,"  replied 
Paupiah. 

"  Let  me  alone  to  deal  with  her,"  said  Middlemas 
"  Before  the  blow  is  struck,  she  shall  not  know  of  our 
private  treaty,  and  afterwards  her  disappointment  will  be 
of  little  consequence.  And  now,  remember  my  stipula- 
tions— my  rank  to  be  restored — my  full  pardon  to  be 
granted." 

"  Ay,"  replied  Paupiah,  cautiously,  "  should  you 
succeed.  But  were  you  to  betray  what  has  here  passed, 
1  will  find  the  dagger  of  a  Lootie  which  shall  reach  thee, 
wert  thon  sheltered  under  the  folds  of  the  Nawaub's  gar- 
ment. In  the  mean  time,  take  this  missive,  and  when 
you  are  in  possession  of  Bangalore,  despatch  it  to  General 
Smith,  whose  division  shall  have  orders  to  approach  as 
near  the  frontiers  of  Mysore  as  may  be,  without  causing 
suspicion." 

Thus  parted  this  worthy  pair;  Paupiah  to  report  to  i«is 
principal  the  progress  of  these  dark  machinations,  Middle- 
mas to  join  the  Begum  on  her  return  to  the  Mysore.  The 
gold  and  diamonds  of  Tippoo,  the  importance  which  lie 
was  about  to  acquire,  the  ridding  himself  at  once  of  the 
capric'ous  authority  of  the  irritable  Tippoo,  ana  the  trou- 


164  CllllOJSlCJLKS    OF 

blesome  claims  of  the  Begum,  were  such  agreeable  sub- 
jects of  contemplation,  that  he  scarcely  thought  of  the 
fate  of  his  European  victim,  unless  to  salve  his  conscience 
with  the  hope  that  the  sole  injury  she  could  sustain  might 
be  the  alarm  of  a  few  days,  during  the  course  of  which  he 
would  acquire  the  means  of  delivering  her  from  the  tyrant, 
in  whose  Zenana  she  was  to  remain  a  temporary  prisoner. 
He  resolved,  at  the  same  time,  to  abstain  from  seeing  her 
till  the  moment  he  could  afford  her  protection,  justly  con- 
sidering the  danger  which  his  whole  plan  might  incur,  if 
he  again  awakened  the  jealousy  of  the  Begum.  This  he 
trusted  was  now  asleep  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  their  return 
to  Tippoo's  camp,  near  Bangalore,  it  was  his  study  to 
soothe  this  ambitious  and  crafty  female  by  blandishments, 
intermingled  with  the  more  splendid  prospects  of  wealth 
and  power  to  be  opened  to  them  both,  as  he  pretended, 
by  the  success  of  his  present  enterprize. 

[It  is  scarce  necessary  to  say,  that  such  things  could  only 
be  acted  in  the  earlier  period  of  our  Indian  settlements, 
when  the  check  of  the  Directors  was  imperfect,  and  that 
of  the  Crown  did  not  exist.  My  friend  Mr.  Fairscribe  is 
of  opinion,  that  there  is  an  anachronism  in  the  introduc- 
tion of  Paupiah,  the  Bramin  Dubash  of  the  English  gov- 
ernor.  c.  c.] 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


IT  appears  that  the  jealous  and  tyrannical  Begun  did 
not  long  suspend  her  purpose  of  agonizing  her  rivsl  by 
acquainting  her  with  her  intended  fate.  By  prayers  or 
rewards,  Menie  Gray  prevailed  on  a  servant  of  Ram  Sing 
Cottah,  to  deliver  to  Hartley  the  following  distracted 
pile  :— 


THE    CANONGATE.  165 

"  All  is  true  your  fears  foretold — He  has  delivered  me 
up  to  a  cruel  woman,  who  threatens  to  sell  rne  to  the  ty- 
rant Tippoo. — Save  me  if  you  can — if  you  have  not  pity, 
or  cannot  give  me  aid,  there  is  none  left  upon  earth. 

M.  G." 

The  haste  with  which  Dr.  Hartley  sped  to  the  Fort, 
and  demanded  an  audience  of  the  Governor,  was  defeated 
by  the  delays  interposed  by  Paupiah. 

It  did  not  suit  the  plans  of  this  artful  Hindhu,  that  any 
interruption  should  be  opposed  to  the  departure  of  the 
Begum  and  her  favourite,  considering  how  much  the  plans 
of  the  last  corresponded  with  his  own.  He  affected  in- 
credulity on  the  charge,  when  Hartley  complained  of  an 
Englishwoman  being  detained  in  the  train  of  the  Begum 
against  her  consent,  treated  the  complaint  of  Miss  Gray 
as  the  result  of  some  female  quarrel  unworthy  of  particu- 
lar attention,  and  when  at  length  he  took  some  steps  for 
examining  further  into  the  matter,  he  contrived  they  should 
be  so  tardy,  that  the  Begum  and  her  retinue  were  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  interruption. 

Hartley  let  his  indignation  betray  him  into  reproaches 
against  Paupiah,  in  which  his  principal  was  not  spared 
This  only  served  to  give  the  impassable  Bramin  a  pretext 
for  excluding  him  from  the  Residency,  with  a  hint,  that  if 
his  language  continued  to  be  of  such  an  imprudent  char- 
acter, he  might  expect  to  be  removed  from  Madras,  and 
stationed  at  some  hill-fort  or  village  among  the  mountains, 
where  his  medical  knowledge  would  find  full  exercise  in 
protecting  himself  and  others  from  the  unhealthiness  of 
the  climate. 

As  he  retired,  bursting  with  ineffectual  indignation,  Es- 
dale  was  the  first  person  whom  Hartley  chanced  to  meet 
with,  and  to  him,  stung  with  impatience,  he  communicated 
what  he  termed  the  infamous  conduct  of  the  Governor's 
Dubash,  connived  at,  as  he  had  but  too  much  reason  to 
suppo??,  by  the  Governor  himself ;  exclaiming  against  the 
want  of  spirit  which  they  betrayed,  in  abandoning  a  Brit- 
548 


166  CHRONICLES    OF 

ish  subject  to  the  fraud  of  renegades,  and  the  force  of  a 
tyrant. 

Esdale  listened  with  that  sort  of  anxiety  which  prudent 
men  betray  when  they  feel  themselves  like  to  be  drawn 
nto  trouble  by  the  discourse  of  an  imprudent  friend. 

"  If  you  desire  to  be  personally  righted  in  this  matter,'' 
said  he  at  length,  "  you  must  apply  to  Leadenhall  street, 
where  1  suspect — betwixt  ourselves — -complaints  are  ac- 
cumulating fast,  both  against  Paupiah  and  his  master." 

"  I  care  for  neither  of  them,"  said  Hartley  ;  "  I  need 
no  personal  redress — I  desire  none — I  only  want  succour 
for  Menie  Gray." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Esdale,  "  you  have  only  one  re- 
source— you  must  apply  to  Hyder  himself " 

"To  Hyder — to  the  usurper — the  tyrant  9" 

"Yes,  to  this  usurper  and  tyrant,"  answered  Esdale, 
"you  must  be  contented  to  apply.  His  pride  is,  to  be 
thought  a  strict  administrator  of  justice  ;  and  perhaps  he 
may  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  choose  to  display  him- 
self in  the  light  of  an  impartial  magistrate." 

"  Then  I  go  to  demand  justice  at  his  footstool,"  said 
Hartley. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  dear  Hartley,"  answered  his  friend  ; 
"first  consider  the  risk.  Hyder  is  just  by  reflection,  and 
perhaps  from  political  considerations ;  but  by  temper- 
ament, his  blood  is  as  unruly  as  ever  beat  under  a  black 
skin,  and  if  you  do  not  find  him  in  the  vein  of  judging, 
he  is  likely  enough  to  be  in  that  of  killing.  Stakes  and 
bowstrings  are  as  frequently  in  his  head  as  the  adjustment 
of  the  scales  of  justice." 

"  No  matter — I  will  instantly  present  myself  at  his 
Durbar.  The  Governor  cannot  for  very  shame  refuse 
me  letters  of  credence." 

"  Never  think  of  asking  them,"  said  his  rrore  experi- 
enced friend  ;  "  it  would  cost  Paupiah  little  to  have  them 
so  worded  as  to  induce  Hyder  to  rid  our  sable  Dujash 
at  once  and  for  ever,  of  the  sturdy  free-spoken  Dr.  Adam 
Hartley.  A  Vakeel,  or  messenger  of  government,  sets 
oul  to-morrow  for  Seringapatam  ;  contrive  to  join  him  on 


THE    CANONGATE.  167 

the  roaJ,  his  passport  will  protect  you  both.  Do  you 
know  none  of  the  chiefs  about  Hyder's  jerson1?" 

"  None,  excepting  his  late  emissary  to  this  place, 
Barak  el  Hadgi,"  answered  Hartley. 

"  His  support,"  said  Esdale,  "  although  only  a  Fakir, 
may  be  as  effectual  as  that  of  persons  of  more  essential 
consequence.  And,  to  say  the  truth,  where  the  caprice  of 
a  despot  is  the  question  in  debate,  there  is  no  knowing 
upon  what  it  is  best  to  reckon. — Take  my  advice,  my  deal 
Hartley,  leave  this  poor  girl  to  her  fate.  After  all,  by 
placing  yourself  in  an  attitude  of  endeavouring  to  save  her, 
it  is  a  hundred  to  one  that  you  only  insure  your  own  de- 
struction." 

Hartley  shook  his  head,  and  bade  Esdale  hastily  fare- 
well ;  leaving  him  in  the  happy  and  self-applauding  state 
of  mind  proper  to  one  who  has  given  the  best  advice  pos- 
sible to  a  friend,  and  may  conscientiously  wash  his  hands 
of  all  consequences. 

Having  furnished  himself  with  money,  and  with  the  at- 
tendance of  three  trusty  native  servants,  mounted  like  him- 
self on  Arab  horses,  and  carrying  with  them  no  tent,  and 
very  little  baggage,  the  anxious  Hartley  lost  not  a  moment 
in  taking  the  road  to  Mysore,  endeavouring,  in  the  mean- 
time, by  recollecting  every  story  he  had  ever  heard  of 
Hyder's  justice  and  forbearance,  to  assure  himself  that  he 
should  find  the  Nawaub  disposed  to  protect  a  helpless 
female,  even  against  the  future  heir  of  his  empire. 

Before  he  crossed  the  Madras  territory,  he  overtook 
the  Vakeel,  or  messenger  of  the  British  Government,  ol 
whom  Esdale  had  spoken.  This  man,  accustomed  for  a 
sum  of  money  to  permit  adventurous  European  traders 
who  desired  to  visit  Hyder's  capital,  to  sh;ire  his  protec- 
tion, passport,  and  escort,  was  not  disposed  to  refuse  the 
same  good  office  to  a  gentleman  of  credit  at  Madras  ;  and, 
propitiated  by  an  additional  gratuity,  undertook  to  travel 
as  speedily  as  possible.  It  was  a  journey  which  was  not 
prosecuted  without  much  fatigue  and  considerable  danger, 
as  they  had  to  traverse  a  country  frequently  exposed  to 
all  the  evils  of  war,  more  especially  when  they  approached 


168  CHRONICLES    OP 

the  Ghauts,  those  tremendous  mountain-passes  which 
descend  from  the  table-land  of  Mysore,  and  through  which 
the  mighty  streams  that  arise  in  the  centre  of  the  Indian 
peninsula,  find  their  way  to  the  ocean. 

The  sun  had  set  ere  the  party  reached  the  foot  of  one 
of  these  perilous  passes,  up  which  lay  the  road  to  Seringa- 
patam.  A  narrow  path,  which  in  summer  resembled  an 
empty  water-course,  winding  upwards  among  immense 
rocks  and  precipices,  was  at  one  time  completely  over- 
shadowed by  dark  groves  of  teak-trees,  and  at  another, 
found  its  way  beside  impenetrable  jungles,  the  habitation 
of  jackals  and  tigers. 

By  means  of  this  unsocial  path  the  travellers  threaded 
their  way  in  silence, — Hartley,  whose  impatience  kept 
him  before  the  Vakeel,  eagerly  inquiring  when  the  moon 
would  enlighten  the  darkness,  which,  after  the  sun's  dis- 
appearance, closed  fast  around  them.  He  was  answered 
by  the  natives  according  to  their  usual  mode  of  expres- 
sion, that  the  moon  was  in  her  dark  side,  and  that  he  was 
not  to  hope  to  behold  her  bursting  through  a  cloud  to  il- 
luminate the  thickets  and  strata  of  black  and  slaty  rocks, 
amongst  which  they  were  winding.  Hartley  had  there- 
fore no  resource,  save  to  keep  his  eye  steadily  fixed  on  the 
lighted  match  of  the  Sowar,  or  horseman,  who  rode  be- 
fore him,  which,  for  sufficient  reasons,  was  always  kept  in 
readiness  to  be  applied  to  the  priming  of  the  matchlock. 
The  vidette,  on  his  part,  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  the  Dovv- 
rah,  a  guide  supplied  at  the  last  village,  who,  having  got 
more  than  half  way  from  his  own  house,  was  much  to  be 
suspected  of  meditating  how  to  escape  the  trouble  of  going 
further.*  The  Dowrah,  on  the  other  hand,  conscious  of 
the  lighted  match  and  loaded  gun  behind  him,  hollowed 
from  time  to  time  to  show  that  he  was  on  his  duty,  and  to 


*  In  every  village  the  Dowrah,  or  Guide,  is  an  official  person,  upon  the  public 
establishment,  and  receives  a  portion  of  the  harvest  or  other  revenue,  along 
with  the  Smith,  the  Sweeper  anil  the  Barber.  As  he  gets  nothing-  from  the  tra- 
vellers whom  it  is  his  oflice  to  conduct,  he  never  scruples  to  shorten  his  own 
journey  and  prolong  theirs  by  taking  them  to  the  nearest  village,  without  refer 
ence  o  the  most  direct  line  of  route,  and  sometimes  deserts  them  entirely  U 
the  regular  Dowrah  is  sick  or  absent,  no  wealth  can  procure  a  substitute. 


THE    CANONGATE.  lf>9 

accelerate  the  march  of  the  travellers.  His  cries  were 
answered  by  an  occasional  ejaculation  of  Uila  from  the 
black  soldiers,  who  closed  the  rear,  and  who  were  medi- 
tating on  former  adventures,  the  plundering  of  a  Kajfda, 
(party  of  travelling  merchants)  or  some  such  exploit,  or 
perhaps  reflecting  that  a  tiger,  in  the  neighbouring  jungle, 
might  be  watching  patiently  for  the  last  of  the  party,  in 
order  to  spring  upon  him,  according  to  his  usual  practice. 

The  sun,  which  appeared  almost  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
left  them,  served  to  light  the  travellers  in  the  remainder  of 
the  ascent,  and  called  forth  from  the  Mahomedans  belong- 
ing to  the  party  the  morning  prayer  of  Alia  Akber,  which 
resounded  in  long  notes  among  the  rocks  and  ravines,  and 
they  continued  with  better  advantage  their  forced  march, 
until  the  pass  opened  upon  a  boundless  extent  of  jungle, 
with  a  single  high  mud  fort  rising  through  the  midst  of  it. 
Upon  this  plain  rapine  and  war  had  suspended  the  labours 
of  industry,  and  the  rich  vegetation  of  the  soil  had  in  a 
few  years  converted  a  fertile  champaign  country  into  an 
almost  impenetrable  thicket.  Accordingly,  the  banks  oi 
a  small  nullah,  or  brook,  were  covered  with  the  footmarks 
of  tigers  and  other  animals  of  prey. 

Here  the  travellers  stopped  to  drink,  and  to  refresh 
themselves  and  their  horses  ;  and  it  was  near  this  spot  that 
Hartley  saw  a  sight  which  forced  him  to  compare  the  sub- 
ject which  engrossed  his  own  thoughts,  with  the  distres? 
that  had  afflicted  another. 

At  a  spot  not  far  distant  from  the  brook,  the  guide 
called  their  attention  to  a  most  wretched-looking  man, 
overgrown  with  hair,  who  was  seated  on  the  skin  of  a  tiger. 
His  body  was  covered  with  mud  and  ashes,  his  skin  sun- 
Din  nt,  his  dress  a  few  wretched  tatters.  He  appeared 
not  to  observe  the  approach  of  the  strangers,  neither  mov- 
ing nor  speaking  a  word,  but  remaining  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  a  small  and  rude  tomb,  formed  of  the  black  slate- 
atones  which  lay  around,  and  exhibiting  a  small  recess  for 
a  lamp.  As  they  approached  the  man,  and  placed  before 
U'tn  a  rupee  or  two,  and  some  rice,  they  observed  that  a 
VOL.  H. 


170  CHRONICLES    OF 

tiger's  skull  and  bones  lay  beside  him,  with  a  sabre  al- 
most consumed  by  rust. 

While  they  gazed  on  this  miserable  object,  the  guide 
acquainted  them  with  his  tragical  history.  Sadhu  Sing 
had  been  a  Sipahee,  or  soldier,  and  freebooter  of  course, 
the  native  and  the  pride  of  a  half-ruined  village  which 
they  had  passed  on  the  preceding  day.  He  was  betroth- 
ed to  the  daughter  of  a  Sipahee,  who  served  in  the  mud 
fort  which  they  saw  at  a  distance  rising  above  the  jungle. 
In  due  time,  Sadhu,  with  his  friends,  came  for  the  pur- 
pose of  the  marriage,  and  to  bring  home  the  bride.  She 
was  mounted  on  a  Tatoo,  a  small  horse  belonging  to  the 
country,  and  Sadhu  and  his  friends  preceded  her  on  foot, 
in  all  their  joy  and  pride.  As  they  approached  the  nullah 
near  which  the  travellers  were  resting,  there  was  heard  a 
dreadful  roar,  accompanied  by  a  shriek  of  agony.  Sadhu 
Sing,  who  instantly  turned,  saw  no  trace  of  his  bride,  save 
that  her  horse  ran  wild  in  one  direction,  whilst  in  the  other 
the  long  grass  and  reeds  of  the  jungle  were  moving  like 
the  ripple  of  the  ocean,  when  distorted  by  the  course  of 
a  shark  holding  its  way  near  the  surface.  Sadhu  drew 
his' sabre  and  rushed  forward  in  that  direction;  the  rest 
of  the  party  remained  motionless  until  roused  by  a  short 
roar  of  agony.  They  then  plunged  into  the  jungle  with 
their  drawn  weapons,  where  they  speedily  found  Sadhu 
Sing  holding  in  his  arms  the  lifeless  corpse  of  his  bride, 
where  a  little  farther  lay  the  body  of  the  tiger,  slain  by 
such  a  blow  over  the  neck  as  desperation  itself  could 
alone  have  discharged. — The  brideless  bridegroom  would 
permit  none  to  interfere  with  his  sorrow.  He  dug  a 
grave  for  his  Mora,  and  erected  over  it  the  rude  tomb 
they  saw,  and  never  afterwards  left  the  spot.  The  beasts 
of  prey  themselves  seemed  to  respect  or  dread  the  ex- 
tremity of  his  sorrow.  His  friends  brought  him  food  and 
water  from  the  nullah,  but  he  neither  smiled  nor  showed 
any  mark  of  acknowledgment  unless  when  they  brought 
him  flowers  to  deck  the  grave  of  Mora.  Four  or  five 
years,  according  to  the  guide,  had  passed  away,  and  there 
Sadhu  Sing  still  remained  among  the  trophies  of  his  grieJ 


THE    CANONGATE.  l<i 

and  his  vengeance,  exhibiting  all  the  symptoms  of  a  1v  ..ic- 
ed age.  though  still  in  the  prime  of  youth.     The  '••\h>.  '-a  : 
teiied  the  travellers  from  their  resting-place;   the  Vaxi^j 
because  it  reurridect  him  of  the  dangers  of  the  VIP.L  e  MIH) 

O  O 

Hartley  because  it  coincided  too  well  with  the  probable 
fate  of  his  beloved,  elmost  within  the  grasp  of  a  m  j''e  for- 
midable tiger  than  that  whose  skeleton  lay  beside  oa'J.u? 
S:r<r. 

It  xv as  at  tl>e  mud  fort  already  mentioned  that  the 
travellers  received  the  first  accounts  of  the  progress  of  the 
Begum  and  her  party,  by  a  Peon  (or  foot  soldier,)  who 
had  been  in  their  company,  but  was  now  on  his  return  to 
the  coast.  They  had  travelled,  he  said,  with  great  speed, 
until  they  ascended  the  Ghauts,  where  they  were  joined 
by  a  party  of  the  Begirm's  own  forces  ;  and  he  and  others, 
who  had  been  brought  from  Madras  as  a  temporary  es- 
cort, were  paid  and  dismissed  to  their  homes.  After  this, 
he  understood  it  was  the  purpose  of  the  Begum  Mootee 
Mahul,  to  proceed  by  slow  marches  and  frequent  haltSj  to 
Bangalore,  the  vicinity  of  which  place  she  did  not  desire 
to  reach  until  Prince  Tippoo,  with  whom  she  desired  an 
interview,  should  have  returned  from  an  expedition  to- 
wards Vandicotta,  in  which  he  had  lately  been  engaged. 

From  the  result  of  his  anxious  inquiries,  Hartley  had 
reason  to  hope,  that  though  Seringapatam  was  seventy- 
five  miles  more  to  the  eastward  than  Bangalore,  yet,  by 
using  diligence,  he  might  have  time  to  throw  himself  at 
the  feet  of  Hyder,  and  beseech  his  interposition,  before 
the  meeting  betwixt  Tippoo  and  the  Begum  should  decide 
the  fate  of  Meriie  Gray.  On  the  other  hand,  he  trembled 
as  the  Peon  told  him  the  Begum's  Bukshee,  or  General, 
who  had  travelled  to  Madras  with  her  in  disguise,  had  now 
assumed  the  dress  and  character  belonging  to  his  rank, 
and  it  was  expected  he  was  to  be  honoured  by  the.  Ma- 
homedan  Prince  with  some  high  office  of  dignity.  With 
still  deeper  anxiety,  he  learned  that  a  palanquin,  watched 
with  sedulous  care  by  the  slaves  of  Oriental  jealousy, 
contained,  it  was  whispered,  a  Feringi,  or  FranKish  wo- 
man, beuitiful  as  a  Houri,  who  had  been  brought  from 


CHROMC1.ES    OT 

England  by  the  Begum,  as  a  present  to  Tippoo.  Tne 
dfap<:  nl'  vil<any  was  therefore  in  full  train  to  be  accora- 
pii:-iied  j  it  remained  to  see  whether,  by  diligence  t,n 
nardey's  side,  its  course  could  be  interrupted. 

When  this  eager  vindicator  of  betrayed  innocence  ar- 
rived in  the  capital  of  Hyder,  it  may  be  believed  that  he 
consumed  no  time  in  viewing  the  temple  of  the  celebrated 
Vishnoo,  or  in  surveying  the  splendid  Gardens  called 
Loll-bang,  which  were  the  monument  of  Ryder's  magnifi- 
cence, and  now  hold  his  mortal  remains.  On  the  contrary, 
he  v;as  nc  sooner  arrived  in  the  city,  than  he  hastened  to 
the  principal  Mosque,  having  no  doubt  that  he  was  there 
*nost  likely  to  learn  some  tidings  of  Barak  el  Hadgi.  He 
approached  accordingly  the  sacred  spot,  and  as  to  enter 
it  would  have  cost  a  Feringi  his  life,  he  employed  the 
agency  of  a  devout  Musselman  to  obtain  information  con- 
cerning the  person  whom  he  sought.  He  was  not  long 
in  learning  that  the  Fakir  Barak  was  within  the  Mosque, 
as  he  had  anticipated,  busied  with  his  holy  office  of  read- 
ing passages  from  the  Koran,  and  its  most  approved  com- 
mentators. To  interrupt  him  in  his  devout  task  was  im- 
possible, and  it  was  only  by  a  high  bribe  that  he  could 
prevail  on  the  same  Moslem  whom  he  had  before  employ- 
ed, to  slip  into  the  sleeve  of  the  holy  man's  robe  a  paper 
containing  his  name,  and  that  of  the  Khan  in  which  the 
Vakeel  had  taken  up  his  residence.  The  agent  brought 
back  for  answer,  that  the  Fakir,  immersed,  as  was  to  be 
expected,  in  the  holy  service  which  he  was  in  the  act  of 
discharging,  had  paid  no  visible  attention  to  the  symbol  of 
intimation  which  the  Feringi  Sahib  (European  gentleman) 
had  sent  to  him.  Distracted  with  the  loss  of  time,  of 
which  each  moment  was  precious.  Hartley  next  endeav- 
oured to  prevail  on  the  Musselman  to  interrupt  the  Fakir's 
devojions  with  a  verbal  message  ;  but  the  man  was  indig- 
nant at  the  very  proposal. 

"Dog  of  a  Christian  !"  he  said,  "  what  art  thou  and 
thy  whole  generation,  that  Barak  el  Hadgi  should  lose  a 
divine  thought  for  the  sake  of  an  infidel  like  thee  9" 


THE    CANON GATE.  173 

Exasperated  beyond  self-possession,  the  unfortunate 
Hartley  was  now  about  to  intrude  upon  the  precincts  of 
the  Mosque  in  person,  in  hopes  of  interrupting  the  formal 
prolonged  recitation  which  issued  from  iis  recesses,  when 
an  old  man  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  prevented 
him  from  a  rashness  which  might  have  cost  him  his  life, 
saying,  at  the  same  time,  "  You  are  a  Sahib  Angrezie, 
(English  gentleman  ;)  I  have  been  a  Telinga,  (a  private 
soldier,)  in  the  Company's  service,  and  have  eaten  their 
salt.  I  will  do  your  errand  for  you  to  the  Fakir  Barak 
el  Hadgi." 

So  saying,  he  entered  the  Mosque,  and  presently 
returned  with  the  Fakir's  answer,  in  these  enigmatical 
words : — "  He  who  would  see  the  sun  rise  must  watch 
till  the  dawn." 

With  this  poor  subject  of  consolation,  Hartley  retired 
to  his  inn,  to  meditate  on  the  futility  of  the  professions  of 
the  natives,  and  to  devise  some  other  mode  of  finding  ac- 
cess to  Hyder  than  that  which  he  had  hitherto  trusted  to. 
On  this  point,  however,  he  lost  all  hope,  being  informed 
by  his  late  fellow-traveller,  whom  he  found  at  the  Khan, 
that  the  Nawaub  was  absent  from  the  city  on  a  secret  ex- 
pedition, which  might  detain  him  for  two  or  three  days. 
This  was  the  answer  which  the  Vakeel  himself  had  re- 
ceived from  the  Dewan,  with  a  farther  intimation,  that  he 
must  hold  himself  ready,  when  he  was  required,  to  deliver 
his  credentials  to  Prince  Tippoo,  instead  of  the  Nawr.ub  ; 
his  business  being  referred  to  the  former,  in  a  way  not 
very  promising  for  the  success  of  his  mission. 

Hartley  was  now  nearly  thrown  into  despair.  He  ap- 
plied to  more  than  one  officer  supposed  to  hafe  credit 
with  the  Nawaub,  but  the  slightest  hint  of  the  nature  of 
his  business  seemed  to  strike  all  with  terror.  Not  one 
of  the  persons  he  applied  to  would  engage  in  the  affair,  or 
even  consent  to  give  it  a  hearing ;  and  the  Dewan  plainly 
told  him,  that  to  engage  in  opposition  to  Prince  Tippoo's 
wishes,  was  the  ready  way  to  destruction,  and  exhorted 
bun  t)  return  to  the  coast.  Driven  almost  to  distraction 

VOL.    II. 


74  CHRONICLES    OF 

by  his  various  failures,  Hartley  betook  himself  in  the  even- 
ing to  the  Khan.  The  call  of  the  Muezzins  thundering 
from  the  minarets,  had  invited  the  faithful  to  .prayers, 
when  a  black  servant,  about  fifteen  years  old,  stood  be- 
fore Hartley,  and  pronounced  these  words,  deliberately, 
and  twice  over, — "  Thus  says  Barak  el  Hadgi,  the  watch- 
er in  the  Mosque.  He  that  would  see  the  sun  rise,  let 
him  turn  towards  the  east."  He  then  left  the  caravan- 
serai ;  and  it  may  be  well  supposed  that  Hartley,  starting 
from  the  carpet  on  which  he  had  lain  down  to  repose 
himself,  followed  his  youthful  guide  with  renewed  vigour 
and  palpitating  hope. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Twas  the  hour  when  rites  unholy 

Call'd  each  I'aynim  voice  to  prayer, 
And  the  star  that  faded  slowly, 

Left  to  dews  the  freshen'd  air. 

Day  his  sultry  fires  had  wasted, 

Calm  and  cool  the  moonbeams  shone  ^ 
To  the  Vizier's  lofty  palace 

One  bold  Christian  came  alone. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL.        Quoted  from  memory 

THE  twilight  darkened  into  night  so  fast,  that  it  was 
only  by  his  white  dress  that  Hartley  could  discern  his 
guide,  as  he  tripped  along  the  splendid  Bazaar  of  the  city. 
But  the  obscurity  was  so  far  favourable,  that  it  prevented 
the  inconvenient  attention  which  the  natives  might  other- 
wise have  bestowed  upon  the  European  in  his  native  dress, 
a  sight  at  that  time  very  rare  in  Seringapatarn. 

The  various  turnings  and  windings  through  which  he 
w  as  cov  dueled,  ended  at  a  small  door  in  a  wall,  which, 


THE    CANONGATE.  175 

from  th«  branches  that  hung  over  it,  ceemed  to  surrouri 
a  garden  or  grove. 

The  postern  opened  on  a  tap  from  his  guid.3,  and  tn^ 
slave  having  entered,  Hartley  prepared  to  follow  but  step- 
ped back  as  a  gigantic  African  brandished  at  his  head  a 
scimitar  three  fingers  broad.  The  young  slave  touched 
his  countryman  with  a  rod  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  touch  disabled  the  giant,  whose  arm 
and  weapon  sunk  instantly.  Hartley  entered  without  far- 
ther opposition,  and  was  now  in  a  grove  of  mango-trees, 
through  which  an  infant  moon  was  twinkling  faintly  amid 
the  murmur  of  waters,  the  sweet  song  of  the  nightingale, 
and  the  odours  of  the  rose,  yellow  jessamine,  orange  and 
citron  flowers,  and  Persian  Narcissus.  Huge  domes  and 
arches,  which  were  seen  imperfectly  in  the  quivering  light, 
seemed  to  intimate  the  neighbourhood  of  some  sacred 
edifice,  where  the  Fakir  had  doubtless  taken  up  his  resi- 
dence. 

Hartley  pressed  on  with  as  much  haste  as  he  could, 
and  entered  a  side-door  and  narrow-vaulted  passage,  at 
the  end  of  which  was  another  door.  Here  his  guide 
stopped,  but  pointed  and  made  indications  that  the  Eu- 
ropean should  enter.  Hartley  did  so,  and  found  himself 
in  a  small  cell,  such  as  we  have  formerly  described,  where- 
in sat  Barak  el  Hadgi,  with  another  Fakir,  who,  to  judge 
from  the  extreme  dignity  of  a  white  beard,  which  ascend- 
sd  up  to  his  eyes  on  each  side,  must  be  a  man  of  great 
sanctity,  as  well  as  importance. 

Hartley  pronounced  the  usual  salutation  of  Salam  Ala- 
•kum  in  the  most  modest  and  deferential  tone  ;  but  his 
former  friend  was  so  far  from  responding  in  their  former 
strain  of  intimacy,  that,  having  consulted  the  eye  of  his 
older  companion,  he  barely  pointed  to  a  third  carpet,  upon 
which  the  stranger  seated  himself  cross-legged  after  the 
country  fashion,  and  a  profound  silence  prevailed  for  the 
space  of  several  minutes.  Hartley  knew  the  Oriental 
customs  too  well  to  endanger  the  success  of  his  suit  by 
precipitation.  He  waited  an  intimation  to  speak.  At 
length  it  came,  and  from  Barak. 


CHRONICLES    OF 

"  When  the  pilgrim  Barak,"  he  said,  "  dwelt  a1  Ma 
tras,  he  had  eyes  and  a  tongue  ;  but  now  he  is  guided  by 
those  of  his  father,  the  holy  Scheik  Mali  ben  Khaledoun, 
Me  superior  of  his  convent." 

This  extreme  humility  Hartley  thought  inconsistent 
with  the  affectation  of  possessing  superior  influence,  which 
Barak  had  shown  while  at  the  Presidency  ;  but  exagge- 
ration of  their  own  consequence  is  a  foible  common  to  all 
who  find  themselves  in  a  land  of  strangers.  Addressing 
the  senior  Fakir,  therefore,  he  told  him  in  as  few  words 
as  possible  the  villanous  plot  which  was  laid  to  betray 
Menie  Gray  into  the  hands  of  the  Prince  Tippoo.  He 
made  his  suit  for  the  reverend  father's  intercession  with 
the  Prince  himself,  and  with  his  father  the  Nawaub,  in  the 
most  persuasive  terms.  The  Fakir  listened  to  him  with 
an  inflexible  and  immovable  aspect,  similar  to  that  with 
which  a  wooden  saint  regards  his  eager  supplicants 
There  was  a  second  pause,  when,  after  resuming  his 
pleading  more  than  once,  Hartley  was  at  length  compelled 
to  end  it  for  want  of  matter. 

The  silence  wa?  broken  by  the  elder  Fakir,  who,  after 
shooting  a  glance  at  his  younger  companion  by  a  turn  of 
the  eye,  without  the  least  alteration  of  the  position  of  the 
head  and  body,  said,  "  The  unbeliever  has  spoken  like  a 
poet.  But  does  he  think  that  the  Nawaub  Khan  Hyder 
Ali  Behauder  will  contest  with  his  son  Tippoo  the  Vic- 
torious, the  possession  of  an  infidel  slave  9" 

Hartley  received  at  the  same  time  a  side  glance  from 
Barak,  as  if  encouraging  him  to  plead  his  own  cause. 
He  suffered  a  minute  to  elapse,  and  then  replied, — 

"The  Nawaub  is  in  the  place  of  the  Prophet,  a  judge 
over  the  low  as  well  as  high.  It  is  written,  that  when  the 
Prophet  decided  a  controversy  between  the  two  sparrows 
concerning  a  grain  of  rice,  his  wife  Fatima  said  to  him, 
Doth  the  Missionary  of  Allah  well  to  bestow  his  time  In 
distributing  justice  on  a  mailer  so  slight,  and  between  such 
despicable  litigants  9' — '  Know,  woman,'  answered  the 
Prophet,  '  that  the  sparrows  and  the  grain  of  rice  are  the 
creation  of  Allah.  They  are  not  worth  more  than  thou 


THE    CANGNGATE.  177 

hast  spoken  ;  but  j  jstice  is  a  treasure  of  inestimable  pi  ice, 
and  it  mr.?t  be  imparted  by  him  who  huldeth  power  to  all 
who  require  it  at  his  hand.  The  Prince  doth  the  will  ,..* 
Allah,  who  gives  it  alike  in  small  matters  as  in  great,  and 
to  the  poor  as  well  as  the  powerful.  To  the  hungry  bird, 
a  grain  of  rice  is  as  a  chaplet  of  pearls  to  a  sovereign.'— 
I  have  spoken." 

"  Bisrnallah  ! — Praised  be  God  !  he  hath  spoken  like 
a  Moullah,"  said  the  elder  Fakir,  with  a  little  more  emo- 
tion, and  sorce  inclination  of  his  head  towards  Barak,  for 
on  Hartley  he  scarcely  deigned  even  to  look. 

"  The  lips  have  spoken  it  which  cannot  lie,"  replied 
Barak,  and  there  was  again  a  pause. 

It  was  once  more  broken  by  Scheik  Hali,  who,  address- 
ing himself  directly  to  Hartley,  demanded  of  him,  "  Hast 
thou  heard,  Feringi,  of  aught  of  treason  meditated  by 
this  Kafr  (or  infidel)  against  the  Nawaub  Behauder?" 

"  Out  of  a  traitor  cometh  treason,"  said  Hartley  ; 
"  but,  to  speak  after  my  knowledge,  I  am  not  conscious 
of  such  design." 

"  There  is  truth  in  the  words  of  him,"  said  the  Fakir, 
"  who  accuseth  not  his  enemy  save  on  his  knowledge. 
The  things  thou  hast  spoken  shall  be  laid  before  the  Na- 
waub ;  and  as  Allah  and  he  will,  so  shall  the  issue  be. 
Meantime,  return  to  thy  Khan,  and  prepare  to  attend  the 
Vakeel  of  thy  government,  who  is  to  travel  with  dawn  to 
Bangalore,  the  strong,  the  happy,  the  holy  city.  Peace 
be  with  thee  ! — Is  it  not  so,  my  son  9" 

Barak,  to  whom  this  appeal  was  made,  replied,  "  Even 
as  my  father  hath  spoken." 

Hartley  had  no  alternative  but  to  arise  and  take  his 
leave  with  the  usual  phrase,  "  Salam — God's  peace  be 
with  you  !" 

His  youthful  guide,  who  waited  his  return  without,  con- 
ducted him  once  more  to  his  Khan,  through  by-paths 
which  he  could  not  have  found  out  without  pilotage.  His 
thoughts  were  in  the  meantime  strongly  engaged  on  his 
late  interview.  He  knew  the  Moslem  men  of  religion 
were  not  implicitly  to  be  trusted.  The  whole  scene  migbl 


»  *°  CHRONICLES    •?  + 

tea  scheme  of  Barak,  to  ?et  *•?  j  of  -he  trouble  of  y>a- 
'ronizing  a  European  in  a  del;:,a  <?  "fft'r  ;  and  he  deter 
mined  lo  be  guided  by  what  should  seem  to  confirm  01 
discredit  the  intimalion  which  he  had  received. 

On  his  arrival  al  the  Khan,  he  found  the  Vakeel  of  tlie 
British  government  in  a  great  bustle,  preparing  to  obey 
directions  transmitted  to  him  by  the  Navvaub's  Dewan,  or 
Ireasurer,  directing  him  lo  depart  the  nexl  morning  with 
break  of  day  for  Bangalore. 

He  expressed  greal  discontent  at  the  order,  and  when 
Hartley  intimated  his  purpose  of  accompanying  him,  seem- 
ed to  think  him  a  fool  for  his  pains,  hinting  the  probability 
that  Hyder  meant  lo  get  rid  of  them  both  by  means  of 
the  freebooters,  through  whose  countries  they  were  to  pass 
with  such  a  feeble  escort.  This  fear  gave  way  to  another, 
when  the  lime  of  departure  came,  at  which  moment  there 
rode  up  aboul  two  hundred  of  the  Navvaub's  native  cav- 
alry. The  Sirdar  who  commanded  these  troops  behaved 
with  civility,  and  staled  that  he  was  directed  lo  attend 
upon  the  travellers,  and  to  provide  for  their  safety  and 
convenience  on  ihe  journey  ;  but  his  manner  was  reserv- 
ed and  dislant,  and  the  Vakeel  insisted  thai  the  force  was 
intended  lo  prevent  their  escape,  rather  than  for  their  pro- 
tection. Under  such  unpleasant  auspices,  ihe  journey 
between  Seringapatam  and  Bangalore  was  accomplished 
in  two  days  and  pan  of  a  third,  the  dislance  being  nearly 
eighty  miles. 

On  arriving  in  view  of  this  fine  and  populous  city,  they 
found  an  encampment  already  established  within  a  mile 
of  its  walls.  It  occupied  a  lope  or  knoll,  covered  with 
trees,  and  looked  full  on  the  gardens  which  Tippoo  had 
created  in  one  quarter  of  the  city.  The  rich  pavilions  of 
the  principal  persons  flamed  with  silk  and  gold  ;  and 
spears  with  gilded  points,  or  poles  supporting  gold  knobs( 
displayed  numerous  little  banners,  inscribed  with  the  name 
of  ihe  Prophet.  This  was  the  camp  of  the  Begum 
Mootee  JMahul,  who,  with  a  small  body  of  her  troops,  about 
two  hundred  men,  was  waiting  the  return  of  Tippoo  un« 
der  the  walls  of  Bangalore.  Their  private  motives  foi 


THE    CANONGATE.  170 

desiring  a  meeting  the  reader  is  acquainted  with  to  the 
public  the  visit  of  the  Begum  had  only  the  appearance  ol 
an  act  ol  deference,  frequently  paid  by  inferior  and  sub- 
ordinate princes  to  ihe  patrons  whom  they  depend  upon. 

These  facts  ascertained,  the  Sirdar  of  the  Nawaub  took 
up  his  own  encampment  within  sight  of  that  of  the  Begum, 
but  at  about  half  a  mile's  distance,  despatching  to  the  city 
a  messenger  to  announce  to  the  Prince  Tippoo,  so  sooi\ 
as  he  should  arrive,  that  he  had  come  hither  with  the 
English  Vakeel. 

The  bustle  of  pitching  a  few  tents  was  soon  over,  and 
Hartley,  solitary  and  sad,  was  left  to  walk  under  vhe  shade 
of  two  or  three  mango-trees,  and  looking  to  the  displayed 
streamers  of  the  Begum's  encampment,  to  reflect  that 
amid  these  insignia  of  Mahomedanism  Menie  Gray  re- 
gained, destined  by  a  profligate  and  treacherous  lover  to 
the  fate  of  slavery  to  a  heathen  tyrant.  The  conscious- 
ness ol  being  in  her  vicinity  added  to  the  bitter  pangs  with 
which  Hartley  contemplated  her  situation,  and  reflected 
how  little  chance  there  appeared  of  his  being  able  to  res- 
cue her  from  it  by  the  mere  force  of  reason  and  justice, 
which  was  all  he  could  oppose  to  the  selfish  passions  of  a 
voluptuous  tyrant.  A  lover  of  romance  might  have  med- 
itated some  means  of  effecting  her  release  by  force  or 
address  ;  but  Hartley,  though  a  man  of  courage,  had  no 
spirit  of  adventure,  and  would  have  regarded  as  desperate 
any  attempt  of  the  kind. 

His  sole  gleam  of  comfort  arose  from  the  impression 
which  he  had  apparently  made  upon  the  elder  Fakir, 
which  he  could  not  help  hoping  might  be  of  some  avail  to 
him.  But  on  one  thing  he  was  firmly  resolved,  and  that 
was,  not  to  relinquish  the  cause  he  had  engaged  in  whilst 
a  grain  of  hope  remained.  He  had  seen  in  his  own  pro- 
fession a  quickening  and  a  revival  of  life  in  the  patient's 
eye,  even  when  glazed  apparently  by  the  hand  of  death  ; 
and  he  was  taught  confidence  amidst  moral  evil  by  his 
success  in  relieving  that  which  was  physical  only. 

While  Hartley  was  thus  meditating,  he  was  roused  to 
attention  by  a  heavy  firing  of  artillery  from  the  high  has- 


180  CHRONICLES    OF 

tions  of  the  town  ;  and  turning  his  eyes  i;\  that  direction 
he  could  see  advancing,  on  the  northern  side  of  Banga- 
lore, a  tide  of  cavalry,  riding  tumultuously  forward,  bran- 
dishing their  spears  in  all  different  attitudes,  and  pressing 
their  horses  to  a  gallop.  The  clouds  of  dust  which  at- 
tended this  vanguard,  for  such  it  was,  combined  with  the 
smoke  of  the  guns,  did  not  permit  Hartley  to  see  distinct- 
ly the  main  body  which  followed  ;  but  the  appearance 
of  howdahed  elephants  and  royal  banners  dimly  seen 
through  the  haze,  plainly  intimated  the  return  of  Tippoo 
to  Bangalore  ;  while  shouts  and  irregular  discharges  of 
musketry,  announced  the  real  or  pretended  rejoicing  of 
the  inhabitants.  The  city  gates  received  the  living  tor- 
rent, which  rolled  towards  them  ;  the  clouds  of  smoke 
and  dust  were  soon  dispersed,  and  the  horizon  was  restor- 
ed to  serenity  and  silence. 

The  meeting  between  persons  of  importance,  more  es- 
pecially of  royal  rank,  is  a  matter  of  very  great  conse- 
quence in  India,  and  generally  much  address  is  employed 
to  induce  the  person  receiving  the  visit,  to  come  as  far  as 
possible  to  meet  the  visiter.  From  merely  rising  up,  or 
going  to  the  edge  of  the  carpet,  to  advancing  to  the  gate 
of  the  palace,  to  that  of  the  city,  or,  finally,  to  a  mile  or 
two  on  the  road,  is  all  subject  to  negotiation.  But  Tip- 
poo's  impatience  to  possess  the  fair  European  induced  him 
to  grant  on  this  occasion  a  much  g-reater  degree  of  cour- 
tesy than  the  Begum  had  dared  to  expect,  and  he  ap- 
pointed his  garden,  adjacent  to  the  city  walls,  and  indeed 
included  within  the  precincts  of  the  fortifications,  as  the 
place  of  their  meeting  ;  the  hour  noon,  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding his  arrival  ;  for  the  natives  seldom  move  early  in 
the  morning,  or  before  having  broken  their  fast.  This 
was  intimated  to  the  Begum's  messenger  by  the  Prince 
in  person,  as,  kneeling  before  him,  he  presented  the  nuz- 
zur,  (a  tribute  consisting  of  three,  five,  or  seven  gold 
Alohurs,  always  an  odd  number,)  and  receiving  in  ex- 
change a  Khelaut,  or  dress  of  honour.  The  messenger, 
in  return,  was  eloquent  in  describing  the  importance  of 
his  mistress,  her  devoted  veneration  for  the  Prince,  the 


THE    CAIfONGATE.  181 

oleasure  which  she  experienced  on  the  prospect  of  their 
motakul,  or  meeting,  and  concluded  with  a  more  modes! 
compliment  to  his  own  extraordinary  talents,  and  the  con- 
fidence which  the  Begum  reposed  in  him.  He  then  de- 
parted ;  and  orders  were  given  that  on  the  next  day  all 
should  be  in  readiness  for  the  Soivarree,  a  grand  proces- 
sion, when  the  Prince  was  to  receive  the  Begum  as  his 
honoured  guest  at  his  pleasure-house  in  the  gardens. 

Long  before  the  appointed  hour,  the  rendezvous  ot 
Fakirs,  beggars,  and  idlers,  before  the  gate  of  the  palace, 
intimated  the  excited  expectations  of  those  who  usually 
attend  processions  ;  while  a  more  urgent  set  of  mendi- 
cants, the  courtiers,  were  hastening  thither  on  horses  or 
elephants,  as  their  means  afforded,  always  in  a  hurry  to 
show  their  zeal,  and  with  a  speed  proportioned  to  what 
they  hoped  or  feared. 

At  noon  precisely,  a  discharge  of  cannon,  placed  ir 
the  outer  courts,  as  also  of  matchlocks  and  of  small  swivels, 
carried  by  camels,  (the  poor  animals  shaking  their  long 
ears  at  every  discharge,)  announced  that  Tippoo  had 
mounted  his  elephant.  The  solemn  and  deep  sound  of 
the  naggra,  or  state  drum,  borne  upon  an  elephant,  was 
then  heard  like  the  distant  discharge  of  artillery,  followed 
by  a  long  roll  of  musketry,  and  was  instantly  answered 
by  that  of  numerous  trumpets  and  tom-toms,  (or  common 
drums,)  making  a  discordant,  but  yet  a  martial  din.  The 
noise  increased  as  the  procession  traversed  the  outer  courts 
of  the  palace  in  succession,  and  at  length  issued  from  the 
gates,  having  at  their  head  the  Chobdars,  bearing  silver 
sticks  and  clubs,  and  shouting,  at  the  pitch  of  their  voices, 
the  titles  and  the  virtues  of  Tippoo,  the  great,  the  gener- 
ous, the  invincible — strong  as  Rustan,  just  as  Nourshirvan 
—with  a  short  prayer  for  his  continued  health. 

After  these  came  a  confused  body  of  men  on  foot,  bear- 
ing spears,  matchlocks,  and  banners,  and  intermixed  with 
horsemen,  some  in  complete  shirts  of  irail  with  caps  of 
steel  under  their  turbans,  some  in  a  sort  of  delensive  ar- 
mour, consisting  of  rich  silk  dresses,  rendered  sabre-proof 


1S2  CHlioMCLES    OF 

by  being  stuffed  with  cotton.  These  champ  D.IS  precede 
ed  the  Prince,  as  whose  body-guards  they  acted.  It  was 
not  till  after  this  time  that  Tippoo  raised  his  celebrated 
Tiger-regiment,  disciplined  and  armed  according  to  the 
European  fashion.  Immediately  before  the  Prince  cams, 
on  a  small  elephant,  a  hard-faced,  severe-looking  man, 
by  office  the  distributor  of  alms,  which  he  flung  in  showers 
of  small  copper  money  among  the  Fakirs  and  beggars, 
whose  scrambles  to  collect  them  seemed  to  augment  their 
amount  ;  while  the  grim-looking  agent  of  Mahomedan 
charity,  together  with  his  elervhant,  which  marched  with 
half  angry  eyes,  and  its  trunK  curled  upwards,  seemed 
both  alike  ready  to  chastise  those  whom  poverty  should 
render  too  importunate. 

Tippoo  himself  next  appeared,  richly  apparelled,  and 
seated  on  an  elephant,  which,  carrying  iis  head  above  all 
the  others  in  the  procession,  seemed  proudly  conscious  of 
superior  dignity.  The  hovvdah,  or  seat,  which  the  Prince 
occupied,  was  of  silver,  embossed  and  gilt,  having  behind 
a  place  for  a  confidential  servant,  who  waved  the  great 
chovvry,  or  cow-tail,  to  keep  off  the  flies  ;  but  who  could 
also  occasionally  perform  the  task  of  spokesman,  being 
well  versed  in  all  terms  of  flattery  and  compliment.  The 
caparisons  of  the  royal  elephant  were  of  scarlet  cloth, 
richly  embroidered  with  gold.  Behind  Tippoo  came  the 
various  courtiers  and  officers  of  the  household,  mounted 
chiefly  on  elephants,  all  arrayed  in  their  most  splendid 
attire,  and  exhibiting  the  greatest  pomp. 

In  this  manner  the  procession  advanced  down  the  prin- 
cipal street  of  the  town,  to  the  gate  of  the  royal  gardens. 
The  houses  were  ornamented  by  broad  cloth,  silk  shawls 
and  embroidered  carpets  of  the  richest  colours,  displayed 
from  the  verandahs  and  windows  ;  even  the  meanest  hut 
was  adorned  with  some  piece  of  cloth,  so  that  the  whole 
street  had  a  singularly  rich  and  gorgeous  appearance. 

This  splendid  procegrion  having  entered  the  royal  gar- 
dens, approached,  thrOv.gh  a  long  avenue  of  lofty  trees,  a 
chabootra,  or  platform  of  white  marble,  canopied  by 
arches  of  the  same  material,  which  occupied  the  centre. 


THE    CANONGATE. 

It  was  raised  four  or  five  feet  from  the  ground,  covered 
with  white  cloth  and  Persian  carpets.  In  the  centre  ol 
the  platform  was  the  musnud,  or  state  cushion  of  the 
Prince,  six  feet  square,  composed  of  crimson  velvet,  rich- 
ly embroidered.  By  especial  grace,  a  small  low  cushion 
was  placed  on  the  right  of  the  Prince,  for  the  occupation 
of  the  Begum.  In  front  of  this  platform  was  a  square 
tank,  or  pond  of  marble,  four  feet  deep,  and  filled  to  the 
brim  with  water  as  clear  as  crystal ;  having  a  large  jet  or 
fountain  in  the  middle,  which  threw  up  a  column  of  it  to 
the  height  of  twenty  feet. 

The  Prince  Tippoo  had  scarcely  dismounted  from  his 
elephant,  and  occupied  the  musnud,  or  throne  of  cushions, 
when  the  stately  form  of  the  Begum  was  seen  advancing 
to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  The  elephant  being  left  at 
the  gate  of  the  gardens  opening  into  the  country  opposite 
to  that  by  which  the  procession  of  Tippoo  had  entered, 
she  was  carried  in  an  open  litter,  richly  ornamented  with 
silver,  and  borne  on  the  .shoulders  of  six  black  slaves. 
Her  person  was  as  richly  attired  as  silks  and  gems  could 
accomplish. 

Richard  Middlemas,  as  the  Begum's  general  or  Buk- 
shee,  walked  nearest  to  her  litter,  in  a  dress  as  magnificent 
in  itself  as  it  was  remote  from  all  European  costume,  be- 
ing that  of  a  Banka,  or  Indian  courtier.  His  turban  was 
of  rich  silk  and  gold,  twisted  very  hard,  and  placed  on 
one  side  of  his  head,  its  ends  hanging  down  on  the  shoul- 
der. His  mustaches  were  turned  and  curled,  and  his 
eyelids  stained  with  antimony.  The  vest  was  of  gold  bro- 
cade, with  a  cummerband,  or  sash,  around  his  waist,  cor- 
responding to  his  turban.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a  large 
sword,  sheathed  in  a  scabbard  of  crimson  velvet,  and  wore 
aroirnd  his  middle  a  broad  embroidered  sword-belt.  What 
thoughts  he  had  under  this  gay  attire,  and  the  bold  bear- 
ing which  corresponded  to  it,  it  would  be  fearful  to  unfold 
His  least  detestable  hopes  were  perhaps  those  which  tend- 
ed to  save  Menie  Gray,  by  betraying  the  Prince  who  was 
about  to  confide  in  him,  and  the  Begum,  at  whose  inter- 
cession Tippoo's  confidence  was  to  be  rej.osed. 


184 


CHRONICLES    OF 


The  litter  stopped  as  it  approached  the  tank,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  which  the  Prince  was  seated  on  his  mus- 
nud.  Middlemas  assisted  the  Begum  to  descend,  and 
led  her.  deeply  veiled  with  silver  muslin,  towards  the  plat- 
form of  marble.  The  rest  of  the  retinue  of  the  Begum 
followed  in  their  richest  and  most  gaudy  attire,  all  males, 
however,  nor  was  there  a  symptom  of  woman  being  in 
her  train,  except  that  a  close  litter,  guarded  by  twenty 
black  slaves,  having  their  sabres  drawn,  remained  at  some 
distance  in  a  thicket  of  flowering  shrubs. 

When  Tippoo  Saib,  through  the  dim  haze  which  hung 
over  the  waterfall,  discerned  the  splendid  train  of  the  Be- 
gum advancing,  he  arose  from  his  musnud,  so  as  to  receive 
her  near  the  foot  of  his  throne,  and  exchanged  greetings 
with  her  upon  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  and  inquiries  after 
their  mutual  health.  He  then  conducted  her  to  the  cush- 
ion placed  near  to  his  own,  while  his  courtiers  anxiously 
showed  their  politeness  in  accommodating  those  of  the 
Begum  with  places  upon  the  carpets  around,  where  they 
all  sat  down  cross-legged — Richard  Middlemas  occupy- 
ing a  conspicuous  situation. 

The  people  of  inferior  note  stood  behind,  and  amongst 
them  was  the  Sirdar  of  Hyder  Ali,  with  Hartley  and  the 
Madras  Vakeel.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
feelings  with  which  Hartley  recognized  the  apostnte  Mid- 
dlemas, and  the  Amazonian  Mrs.  Montreville.  The  sight 
of  them  worked  up  his  resolution  to  make  an  appeal 
against  them  in  full  Durbar,  to  the  justice  which  Tippoo 
was  obliged  to  render  to  all  who  should  complain  of  in- 
juries. In  the  meanwhile,  the  Prince,  who  had  hitherto 
spoken  in  a  low  voice,  while  acknowledging,  it  is  to  be 
supposed,  the  services  and  the  fidelity  of  the  Begum,  now 
gave  the  sign  to  his  attendant,  who  said,  in  an  elevated 
tone,  "  Wherefore,  and  to  requite  these  services,  the 
mighty  Prince,  at  the  request  of  the  mighty  Begum, 
Mootee  Mahul,  beautiful  as  the  moon,  and  wise  as  the 
daughter  of  Giamschid,  had  decreed  to  take  into  his  ser- 
vice the  Bukshee  of  her  armies,  and  to  invest  him,  as 


THE    CANONOATE.  185 

one  worthy  of  all  confidence,  with  the  keeping  of  his  be- 
loved capital  of  Bangalore." 

The  voice  of  the  crier  had  scarce  ceased,  wjien  it  was 
answered  by  one  as  loud,  which  sounded  from  the  crowd 
of  hy-standers,  "  Cursed  is  he  who  maketh  the  robber 
Leik  his  treasurer,  or  trusteth  the  lives  of  Moslemah  to 
the  command  of  an  apostate  !" 

With  unutterable  satisfaction,  yet  with  trembling  doubt 
and  anxiety,  Hartley  traced  the  speech  to  the  elder  Fakir, 
the  companion  of  Barak.  Tippoo  seemed  not  to  notice 
the  interruption,  which  passed  for  that  of  some  mad  devo- 
tee, to  whom  the  Moslem  princes  permit  great  freedoms. 
The  Durbar,  therefore,  recovered  from  their  surprise  ; 
and,  in  answer  to  the  proclamation,  united  in  the  shout  of 
applause  which  is  expected  to  attend  every  annunciation 
of  the  royal  pleasure. 

Their  acclamation  had  no  sooner  ceased  than  Middle- 
mas  arose,  bent  himself  before  the  musnud,  and,  in  a  set 
speech,  declared  his  unvvorthiness  of  such  high  honour  as 
had  now  been  conferred,  and  his  zeal  for  the  Prince's 
service.  Something  remained  to  be  added,  but  his  speech 
faltered,  his  limbs  shook,  and  his  tongue  seemed  to  refuse 
its  office. 

The  Begurn  started  from  her  seat,  though  contrary  to 
etiquette,  and  said,  as  if  to  supply  the  deficiency  in  the 
speech  of  her  officer,  "  My  slave  would  say,  that  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  so  great  an  honour  conferred  on  my 
Bukshee,  I  am  so  void  of  means,  that  I  can  only  pray 
your  Highness  will  deign  to  accept  a  lily  from  Frangistan, 
to  plant  within  the  recesses  of  the  secret  garden  of  thy 
pleasures.  Let  my  Lord's  guards  carry  yonder  litter  to 
the  Zenana." 

A  female  scream  was  heard,  as,  at  a  signal  from  Tip- 
poo,  the  guards  of  his  Seraglio  advanced  to  receive  the 
closed  litter  from  the  attendants  of  the  Begum.  The 
voice  of  the  old  Fakir  was  heard  louder  and  sterner  than 
before. — "  Cursed  is  »he  prince  who  barters  justice  for 

VOL     II 


186  CHRONICLES    OF 

'ust !  He  shall  die  in  the  gate  by  the  sword  of  the  stran- 
ger." 

"  This  is  too  insolent !"  said  Tippoo.  "  Drag  forward 
that  Fakir,  and  cut  his  robe  into  tatters  on  his  back  with 
your  chabouks."* 

But  a  scene  ensued  like  that  in  the  hall  of  Seyd.  All 
who  attempted  to  obey  the  command  of  the  incensed  des- 
pot fell  back  from  the  Fakir,  as  they  would  from  the  an- 
gel of  death.  He  flung  his  cap  and  fictitious  beard  on 
the  ground,  and  the  incensed  countenance  of  Tippoo  was 
subdued  in  an  instant,  when  he  encountered  the  stern  and 
awful  eye  of  his  father.  A  sign  dismissed  him  from  the 
throne,  which  Hyder  himself  ascended,  while  the  officious 
menials  hastily  disrobed  him  of  his  tattered  cloak,  and 
flung  on  him  a  robe  of  regal  splendour,  and  placed  on  his 
head  a  jewelled  turban.  The  Durbar  rung  with  accla- 
mations to  Hyder  Ali  Kkan  Behauder,  "  the  good,  the 
wise,  the  discoverer  of  hidden  things,  who  cometh  into 
the  Divan  like  the  sun  bursting  from  the  clouds." 

The  Navvaub  at  length  signed  for  silence,  and  was 
promptly  obeyed.  He  looked  majestically  around  him, 
and  at  length  bent  his  look  upon  Tippoo,  whose  downcast 
eyes,  as  he  stood  before  the  throne  with  his  arms  folded 
on  his  bosom,  were  strongly  contrasted  with  the  haughty 
air  of  authority  which  he  had  worn  but  a  moment  be- 
fore. "  Thou  hast  been  willing,"  said  the  Nawaub,  "  to 
barter  the  safety  of  thy  capital  for  the  possession  of  a 
white  slave.  But  the  beauty  of  a  fair  woman  caused 
Solomon  ben  David  to  stumble  in  his  path  ;  how  much 
more,  then,  should  the  son  of  Hyder  Naig  remain  firm 
under  temptation  ! — That  men  may  see  clearly,  we  must 
remove  the  light  which  dazzles  them.  Yonder  Feringi 
woman  must  be  placed  at  my  disposal." 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  replied  Tippoo,  while  the  deep 
gloom  on  his  brow  showed  what  his  forced  submission 
cost  h  s  proud  and  passionate  spirit.  In  the  hearts  of  the 
coiirtieis  present  reigned  the  most  eager  curiosity  to  see 

•  Long  whips. 


THE    CANONGATE.  181 

fhe  denouement  of  the  scene,  but  not  a  trace  of  that  wish 
was  suffered  to  manifest  itself  on  features  accustomed  to 
conceal  all  internal  sensations.  The  feelings  of  the  Begum 
were  hidden  under  her  veil  ;  while,  in  spite  of  a  bold  at- 
tempt to  conceal  his  alarm,  the  perspiration  stood  in  large 
drops  on  the  brow  of  Richard  Middlemas.  The  next 
words  of  the  Nawaub  sounded  like  music  in  the  ear  of 
Hartley. 

"  Carry  the  Feringi  woman  to  the  tent  of  the  Sirdar 
Belash  Cassim,  (the  chief  to  whom  Hartley  had  been 
committed.)  Let  her  be  tended  in  all  honour,  and  let  him 
prepare  to  escort  her,  with  the  Vakeel  and  the  Hakim 
Hartley,  to  the  Payeen-Ghaut,  (thp  country  beneath  the 
passes,)  answering  for  their  safety  with  his  head."  The 
litter  was  on  its  road  to  the  Sirdar's  tents  ere  the  Nawaub 
had  done  speaking.  "  For  thee,  Tippoo,"  continued  Hy- 
der,  "  I  am  not  come  hither  to  deprive  thee  of  authority, 
or  to  disgrace  thee  before  the  Durbar.  Such  things  as 
thou  hast  promised  to  this  Feringi,  proceed  to  make  them 
good.  The  sun  calleth  not  back  the  splendour  which  he 
lends  to  the  moon  ;  and  the  father  obscures  not  the  dig- 
nity which  he  has  conferred  on  the  son.  What  thou  hast 
promised,  that  do  thou  proceed  to  make  good." 

The  ceremony  of  investiture  was  therefore  recommenc- 
ed, by  which  the  Prince  Tippoo  conferred  on  Aliddlemas 
the  important  government  of  the  city  of  Bangalore,  prob- 
ably with  the  internal  resolution,  that  since  he  was  himself 
deprived  of  the  fair  European,  he  would  take  an  early 
opportunity  to  remove  the  new  Killedar  from  his  charge  ; 
while  Middlemas  accepted  it  with  the  throbbing:  hope  that 
he  might  yet  outwit  both  father  and  son.  The  deed  of 
investiture  was  read  aloud — the  robe  of  honour  was  put 
upon  the  newly-created  Killedar,  and  an  hundred  voices, 
while  they  blessed  the  prudent  choice  of  Tippoo,  wished 
/he  governor  good  fortune,  and  victory  over  his  enemies. 

A  horse  was  led  forward,  as  the  Prince's  gift.  It  was 
a  fine  steed  of  the  Cutty  a  war  breed,  high-crested,  with 
broid  hind-quarters  ;  he  was  of  a  white  colour,  but  had 
t!  e  extremity  of  his  tail  and  mane  stained  red.  His  sad 


188  CHRONICLES    OF 

die  WQJ  red  velvet,  the  bridle  and  crupper  studded  with 
gilded  knobs.  Two  attendants  on  lesser  horses  led  this 
prancing  animal,  one  holding  the  lance,  and  the  other  the 
long  sp^ar  of  their  patron.  The  horse  was  shown  to  the 
applauding  courtiers,  and  withdrawn,  in  order  to  be  led  in 
state  through  the  streets,  vyhile  the  new  Killedar  should 
follow  on  the  elephant,  another  present  usual  on  such 
an  occasion,  which  was  next  made  to  advance,  that  the 
world  might  admire  the  munificence  of  the  Prince. 

The  huge  animal  approached  the  platform,  shaking  his 
large  wrinkled  head,  which  he  raised  and  sunk,  as  if  im- 
patient, and  curling  upwards  his  trunk  from  time  to  time, 
as  if  to  show  the  gulph  of  his  tongueless  mouth.  Grace- 
fully retiring  with  the  deepest  obeisance,  the  Killedar,  well 
pleased  the  audience  was  finished,  stood  by  the  neck  of 
the  elephant,  expecting  the  conductor  of  the  animal  would 
make  him  kneel  down,  that  he  might  ascend  the  gilded 
howdah,  which  awaited  his  occupancy. 

"  Hold,  Feringi,"  said  Hyder.  "  Thou  hast  received 
all  that  was  promised  thee  by  the  bounty  of  Tippoo.  Ac- 
cept now  what  is  the  fruit  of  the  justice  of  Hyder." 

As  he  spoke,  he  signed  with  his  finger,  and  the  driver 
of  the  elephant  instantly  conveyed  to  the  animal  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  Nawaub.  Curling  his  long  trunk  around  the 
neck  of  the  ill-fated  European,  the  monster  suddenly  threw 
the  wretch  prostrate  before  him,  and  stamping  his  huge 
shapeless  foot  upon  his  breast,  put  an  end  at  once  to  his 
life  and  to  his  crimes.  The  cry  which  the  victim  uttered 
was  mimicked  by  the  roar  of  the  monster,  and  a  sound 
like  an  hysterical  laugh  mingling  with  a  scream,  which 
rung  from  under  the  veil  of  the  Begurn.  The  elephant 
once  more  raised  his  trunk  aloft,  and  gaped  fearfully. 

The  courtiers  preserved  a  profound  silence  ;  but  Tip- 
poo,  upon  whose  muslin  robe  a  part  of  the  victim's  blood 
had  spirted,  held  it  up  to  the  Nawaub,  exclaiming,  in  a 
sorrowful,  yet  resentful  tone, — "  Father — father — was  it 
thus  my  promise  should  have  been  kept  ?" 

"  Know,  foolish  boy,"  said  Hyder  Ali,  "  that  the  car- 
rion which  lies  there  was  in  a  plot  to  deliver  Bangalore 


THE    CAJVOKGATE.  J  89 

to  the  Feringis  and  the  Mahrattas.  This  Begum  (she 
started  when  she  heard  herself  named)  has  given  us  warn- 
ing of  the  plot,  and  hath  so  merited  her  pardon  for  having 
originally  concurred  in  it, — whether  altogether  out  of  love 
to  us  we  will  not  too  curiously  inquire. — Hence  with  that 
lump  of  bloody  clay,  and  let  the  Hakim  Hartley  and  the 
English  Vakeel  come  before  me." 

They  were  brought  forward,  while  some  of  the  attend- 
ants flung  sand  upon  the  bloody  traces,  and  others  removed 
the  crushed  corpse. 

"  Hakim,"  said  Hyder,  "  thou  shall  return  with  the 
Feringi  woman,  and  with  gold  to  compensate  her  injuries, 
wherein  the  Begum,  as  is  fitting,,  shall  contribute  a  share. 
Do  thou  say  to  thy  nation,  Hyder  Ali  acts  justly."  The 
Nawaub  then  inclined  himself  graciously  to  Hartley,  and 
then  turning  to  the  Vakeel,  who  appeared  much  discom- 
posed, "  You  have  brought  to  me,"  he  said,  "  words  of 
peace,  while  your  masters  meditated  a  treacherous  war 
It  is  not  upon  such  as  you  that  my  vengeance  ought  to 
alight.  But  tell  the  Kafr  (or  infidel)  Paupiah,  and  his 
unworthy  master,  that  Hyder  Ali  sees  too  clearly  to  suffer 
to  be  lost  by  treason  the  advantages  he  has  gained  by  war. 
Hitherto  I  have  been  in  the  Carnatic  as  a  mild  prince — 
in  future  I  will  be  a  destroying  tempest !  Hitherto  I  have 
made  inroads  as  a  compassionate  and  merciful  conqueror 
— hereafter  I  will  be  the  messenger  whom  Allah  sends  to 
the  kingdoms  which  he  visits  in  judgment  !" 

It  is  well  known  how  dreadfully  the  Nawaub  kept  this 
promise,  and  how  he  and  his  son  afterwards  sunk  before 
the  discipline  and  bravery  of  the  Europeans.  The  scene 
of  just  punishment  which  he  so  faithfully  exhibited  might 
be  owing  to  his  policy,  his  internal  sense  of  right,  and  to 
the  ostentation  of  displaying  it  before  an  Englishman  of 
sense  and  intelligence,  or  to  all  of  these  motives  mingled 
together — but  in  what  proportions  it  is  not  for  us  to  dis- 
tinguish. 

Hartley  reached  the  coast  in  safety  with  his  precious 
charge  rescued  from  a  dreadful  fate  when  siie  was  almost 
beyond  hcpe  But  the  nerves  and  constitu:<on  of  AJenie 


190  CHRONICLES    OF 

Gray  had  received  a  shock  from  which  she  long  suffered 
severely,  and  never  entirely  recovered.  The  principal 
adies  of  the  settlement,  moved  by  the  singular  tale  of  her 
distress,  received  her  with  the  utmost  kindness,  and  ex- 
ercised towards  her  the  most  attentive  and  affectionate 
hospitality.  The  Nawaub,  faithful  to  his  promise,  remit- 
ted to  her  a  sum  of  no  less  than  ten  thousand  gold  Mo- 
hurs,  extorted,  as  was  surmised,  almost  entirely  from  the 
hoards  of  the  Begum  Moolee  Mabui,  or  Montreville.  Ol 
the  fate  of  that  adventuress  nothing  was  known  for  cer- 
tainty ;  but  her  forts  and  government  were  taken  into 
Hyder's  custody,  and  report  said,  that,  her  power  being 
abolished  and  her  consequence  lost,  she  died  by  poison, 
either  taken  by  herself,  or  administered  by  some  other 
person. 

It  might  be  thought  a  natural  conclusion  of  the  history 
of  Menie  Gray,  that  she  should  have  married  Hartley,  to 
whom  she  stood  much  indebted  for  his  heroic  interfer- 
ence in  her  behalf.  But  her  feelings  were  too  much  and 
;oo  painfully- agitated,  her  health  too  much  shattered,  to 
permit  her  to  entertain  thoughts  of  a  matrimonial  con- 
nexion, even  with  the  acquaintance  of  her  youth,  and  the 
champion  of  her  freedom.  Time  might  have  removed 
these  obstacl-es,  but  not  two  years  after  their  adventures 
in  Mysore,  the  gallant  and  disinterested  Hartley  fell  a 
victim  to  his  professional  courage,  in  withstanding  the 
progress  of  a  contagious  distemper,  which  he  at  length 
caught,  and  under  which  he  sunk.  He  left  a  considera- 
ble part  of  the  moderate  fortune  which  he  had  acquired 
to  Menie  Gray,  who,  of  course,  did  not  want  many  ad- 
vantageous offers  of  a  matrimonial  character.  But  she 
respected  the  memory  of  Hartley  too  much,  to  subdue 
in  behalf  of  another  the  reasons  which  induced  her  to 
refuse  the  hand  which  he  had  so  well  deserved — nay,  it 
may  be  thought,  had  so  fairly  won. 

She  returned  to  Britain — what  seldom  occurs — un- 
married though  wealthy  ;  and,  settling  in  her  native  vil- 
age,  appeared  to  find  her  only  pleasure  in  acts  of  benev- 
olence which  seemed  to  exceed  thf  extent  of  her  fortune 


THE    CANONGATE.  191 

had  not  her  very  retired  life  been  taken  into  considera- 
tion. Two  or  three  persons  with  whom  she  was  intimate, 
could  trace  in  her  character  that  generous  and  disinter- 
ested simplicity  and  affection,  which  were  the  ground- 
work of  her  character.  To  the  world  at  large  her  habits 
seemed  those  of  the  ancient  Roman  matron,  which  is 
recorded  on  her  tomb  in  these  four  words, 

DOMUM    MANSIT LrANAM    FECIT. 


'js  <£onclum'om 

If  you  tell  a  good  jest, 
And  please  all  the  rest, 

Comes  Dingley,  and  asks  you,  "  What  was  it  7" 
And  before  she  can  know, 
Away  she  will  go 

To  seek  an  old  *ag  in  the  closet. 

Dean  Swift. 

WHILE  I  was  inditing  the  goodly  matter  which  my 
readers  have  just  perused,  I  might  be  said  to  go  through 
a  course  of  breaking-in  to  stand  criticism,  like  a  shooting- 
pony  to  stand  fire.  By  some  of  those  venial  breaches  of 
confidence,  which  always  take  place  on  the  like  occasions, 
my  private  flirtations  with  the  Muse  of  Fiction  became 
a  matter  whispered  in  Miss  Fairscribe's  circle,  some  orna- 
ments of  which  were,  I  suppose,  highly  interested  in  the 
progress  of  the  affair,  while  others  "  really  thought  Mr. 
Chrystal  Croftangry  might  have  had  more  wit  at  his  time 
of  day."  Then  came  the  sly  intimation,  the  oblique  re- 
mark, all  that  sugar-lipped  raillery  which  is  fitted  for  the 
situation  of  a  man  about  to  do  a  foolish  thing,  whether  it 
be  to  publish  or  to  marry,  and  that  accompanied  with  the 
discreet  nod?  and  winks  of  such  friends  as  are  in  the  se 


102  CHRONICLES    OF 

cret,  and  the  oouging  eagerness  of  others  to  know  al 
about  it. 

At  length  the  affair  became  so  far  public,  that  I  was 
induced  to  face  a  tea-party  with  my  manuscript  in  my 
pocket,  looking  as  simple  and  modest  as  any  gentleman  of 
a  certain  age  need  to  do  upon  such  an  occasion.  When 
tea  had  been  carried  round,  handkerchiefs  and  smelling 
bottles  prepared,  1  had  the  honour  of  reading  the  Sur- 
geon's Daughter,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  evening. 
It  went  off  excellently  ;  my  friend  Mr.  Fairscribe,  who 
had  been  seduced  from  his  desk  to  join  the  literary  cir- 
cle, only  fell  asleep  twice,  and  readily  recovered  his  atten- 
tion by  help  of  his  snuff-box.  The  ladies  were  politely 
attentive,  and  when  the  cat,  or  the  dog,  or  a  next  neigh- 
bour, tempted  an  individual  to  relax,  Katie  Fairscribe  was 
on  the  alert,  like  an  active  whipper-in,  with  look,  touch, 
or  whisper,  to  recall  them  to  a  sense  of  what  was  going 
on.  Whether  Miss  Katie  was  thus  active  merely  to  en 
force  the  literary  discipline  of  her  coterie,  or  whether  she 
was  really  interested  by  the  beauties  of  the  piece,  and  de- 
sirous to  enforce  them  on  others,  1  will  not  venture  to  ask, 
in  case  .1  should  end  in  liking  the  girl — and  she  is  really 
a  pretty  one — better  than  wisdom  would  warrant,  either 
for  my  sake  or  hers. 

I  must  own,  my  story  here  and  there  flagged  a  good 
deal  ;  perhaps  there  were  faults  in  my  reading,  for  while 
I  should  have  been  attending  to  nothing  but  how  to  give 
the  words  effect  as  they  existed,  I  was  feeling  the  chilling 
consciousness,  that  they  might  have  been,  and  ought  to 
have  been,  a  great  deal  better.  However,  we  kindled  up 
at  last,  when  we  got  to  the  East  Indies,  although  on  the 
mention  of  tigers,  an  old  lady,  whose  tongue  had  been 
impatient  for  an  hour,  broke  in  with,  "  1  wonder  if  Mr. 
Croftan^ry  ever  heard  the  story  of  Tiger  Tullideph  *?" 
and  had  nearly  inserted  the  whole  narrative  as  an  episode 
in  my  tale.  She  was,  however,  brought  to  reason,  and 
the  subsequent  mention  of  shawls,  diamonds,  turbans,  an<i 
"inntrerbands,  had  their  usual  effect  in  awakening  the 


THE    CANONGATE.  J 93 

imaginations  of  the  fair  auditors.  At  the  extinction  of 
the  faithless  lover  in  a  way  so  horribly  new,  [  had,  as  in- 
deed I  expected,  the  good  fortune  to  excite  that  expres- 
sion of  painful  interest,  which  is  produced  by  drawing  in 
the  breath  through  the  compressed  lips;  nay,  one  Miss 
of  fourteen  actually  screamed. 

At  length  my  task  was  ended,  and  the  fair  circle 
rained  odours  upon  me,  as  they  pelt  beaux  at  the  Carnival 
with  sugar-plums,  and  drench  them  with  scented  spices. 
There  was  "  Beautiful,"  and  "  Sweetly  interesting," 
and  "  O  Mr.  Croftangry,"  and  "  How  much  obliged," 
and  "  What  a  delightful  evening,"  and  "  O  Miss  Katie, 
how  could  you  keep  such  a  secret  so  long !"  While  the 
dear  souls  were  thus  smothering  me  with  rose-leaves,  the 
merciless  old  Jadv  carried  them  all  ohV  by  a  disquisition 
upon  shawls,  wnich  she  had  the  impudence  to  say,  arose 
entirely  out  of  my  story.  Miss  Katie  endeavoured  to 
stop  the  flow  of  her  eloquence  in  vain  ;  she  threw  all 
other  topics  out  of  the  field,  and  from  the  genuine  Indian, 
she  made  a  digression  to  the  imitation  shawls  now  made 
at  Paisley,  out  of  real  Thibet  wool,  not  to  be  known  from 
the  actuai  Country  shawl,  except  by  some  inimitable 
cross-stitch  in  the  border.  "  It  is  well,"  said  the  old 
lady,^  wrapping  herself  up  in  a  rich  Kashmire,  "  that 
there  is  some  way  of  knowing  a  thing  that  cost  fifty  guin- 
eas from  an  article  that  is  sold  for  five  ;  but  I  venture  to 
say  there  are  not  one  out  of  ten  thousand  that  would  un- 
derstand the  difference." 

The  politeness  of  some  of  the  fair  ladies  would  now 
have  brought  back  the  conversation  to  the  forgotten  sub- 
ject of  our  meeting.  "  How  could  you,  Mr.  Croftangry, 
collect  all  these  hard  words  about  India  9 — you  were 
never  there?" — "  No,  madam,  I  have  not  had  that  advan- 
tage ;  but  like  the  imitative  operatives  of  Paisley,  I  have 
composed  my  shawl  by  incorporating  into  the  woof  a  little 
Thibet  wool,  which  my  excellent  friend  and  neighbour, 
Colonel  MacKerris,  one  of  the  best  fellows  who  ever  trod 
a  Highland  moor,  or  dived  into  an  Indian  jungle,  had  the 
goodness  to  supply  me  with." 

VOL.    II. 


194  CHRONICLES    OF 

My  rehearsal,  however,  though  not  absolutely  and  al- 
.ogether  to  my  taste,  has  prepared  me  in  some  measure 
for  the  less  tempered  and  guarded  sentence  of  the  world. 
So  a  man  must  learn  to  encounter  a  foil  before  he  con- 
fronts a  sword  ;  and  to  take  up  my  original  simile,  a  horse 
must  be  accustomed  to  a  feu  de  joie  before  you  can  ride 
him  against  a  volley  of  balls.  Well,  Corporal  Nyrn's 
philosophy  is  not  the  worst  that  has  been  preached, 
''  Things  must  be  as  they  may."  If  my  lucubrations 
give  pleasure,  1  may  again  require  the  attention  of  the 
courteous  reader ;  if  not,  here  end  the 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONOATE. 


MY  AU.N7T  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  species  of  publication  which  has  come  to  be 
generally  known  by  the  title  of  Annual,  being  a  miscel- 
lany of  prose  and  verse,  equipped  with  numerous  en- 
gravings, and  put  forth  every  year  about  Christmas,  had 
flourished  for  a  long  while  in  Germany,  before  it  was 
imitated  in  this  country  by  an  enterprising  bookseller,  a 
German  by  birth,  Mr.  Ackermann.  The  rapid  success 
of  his  work,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  time,  gave  birth  to 
a  host  of  rivals,  and,  among  others,  to  an  Annual  styled 
The  Keepsake,  the  first  volume  of  which  appeared  in 
1828,  and  attracted  much  notice,  chiefly  in  consequence 
of  the  veiy  uncommon  splendour  of  its  illustrative  ac- 
companiments. The  expenditure  which  the  spirited  pro- 
prietors lavished  on  this  magnificent  volume,  is  understood 
to  have  been  not  less  than  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand 
pounds  sterling ! 

Various  gentlemen  of  such  literary  reputation  that  any 
one  might  think  it  an  honour  to  be  associated  with  them, 
had  been  announced  as  contributors  to  this  Annual,  before 
application  was  made  to  me  to  assist  in  it  ;  and  I  accord- 
ingly placed  with  much  pleasure  at  the  Editor's  disposal 
a  few  fragments,  originally  designed  to  have  been  worked 
into  the  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  besides  a  MS 


196  INTRODUCTION    TO 

Drama,  the  long-neglected  performance  of  my  youthful 
days — The  House  of  Aspen. 

The  Keepsake  for  1828  included,  however,  only  three 
of  these  little  prose  tales — of  which  the  first  in  order 
was  that  entitled  "  IVJy  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror."  By 
way  of  introduction  to  this,  when  now  included  in  a 
general  collection  of  my  lucubrations,  1  have  only  to  say, 
tnat  it  is  a  mere  transcript,  or  at  least  with  very  little 
embellishment,  of  a  story  that  I  remembered  being  struck 
with  in  my  childhood,  when  told  at  the  fireside  by  a  lady 
of  eminent  virtues,  and  no  inconsiderable  share  of  talent, 
one  of  the  ancient  and  honourable  house  of  Swinton. 
She  was  a  kind  relation  of  my  own,  and  met  her  death 
in  a  manner  so  shocking,  being  killed  in  a  fit  of  insanity 
by  a  female  attendant  who  had  been  attached  to  her  per- 
son for  half  a  lifetime,  that  I  cannot  now  recall  her 
memory,  child  as  I  was  when  the  catastrophe  occurred, 
without  a  painful  re-awakening  of  perhaps  the  first  im- 
ages of  horror  that  the  scenes  of  real  life  stamped  on  my 
mind. 

This  good  spinster  had  in  her  composition  a  strong 
vein  of  the  superstitious,  and  was  pleased,  among  other 
fancies,  to  read  alone  in  her  chamber  by  a  taper  fixed  in 
a  candlestick  which  she  had  had  formed  out  of  a  human 
skull.  One  night  this  strange  piece  of  furniture  acquired 
suddenly  the  power  of  locomotion,  and,  after  performing 
some  odd  circles  on  her  chimney-piece,  fairly  leaped  on 
the  floor,  and  continued  to  roll  about  the  apartment. 
Mrs.  Swinton  calmly  proceeded  to  the  adjoining  room 
for  another  light,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  penetrate 
the  mystery  on  the  spot.  Rats  abounded  in  the  ancient 
building  she  inhabited,  and  one  of  these  had  managed 
to  ensconce  itself  within  her  favourite  memento  mori. 
Though  thus  endowed  with  a  more  then  feminine  share 
of  nerve,  she  entertained  largely  that  belief  in  super- 
naturals,  which  in  those  times  was  not  considered  as  sit- 
ting ungracefully  on  the  grave  and  aged  of  her  condition ; 
and  the  story  of  the  Magic  Mirror  was  one  for  which  she 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  197 

vouched  with  particular  confidence,  alleging  indeed  that 
one  of  her  own  family  had  been  an  eye-witness  of  the 
incidents  recorded  in  it. 

"  I  tell  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  Tie  " 

Stones  enow  of  much  the  same  cast  will  present  tnein- 
selves  to  the  recollection  of  such  of  my  readers  as  have 
ever  dabbled  in  a  species  of  lore  to  which  I  certainly 
gave  more  hours,  at  one  period  of  my  life,  than  1  should 
gain  any  credit  by  confessing. 

Avgutt,  1831. 

550 


MV  A I  NT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


"  There  are  times 

When  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seemi . 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  mark'u  pari>i»K(, 
Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved, 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain'd  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 
Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  1  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life." 

ANONYMOUS. 

MY  AUNT  MARGARET  was  one  of  that  respected 
sisterhood,  upon  whom  devolve  all  the  trouble  and  so- 
licitude incidental  to  the  possession  of  children,  except- 
ing only  that  which  attends  their  entrance  into  the  world. 
We  were  a  large  family,  of  very  different  dispositions 
and  constitutions.  Some  were  dull  and  peevish — they 
were  sent  to  Aunt  Margaret  to  be  amused  ;  some  were 
rude,  romping,  and  boisterous — they  were  sent  to  Aunt 
Margaret  to  be  kept  quiet,  or  rather,  that  their  noise 
might  be  removed  out  of  hearing  :  those  who  were  in- 
disposed were  sent  with  the  prospect  of  being  nursed — 
those  who  were  stubborn,  with  the  hope  of  their  being 
subdued  by  the  kindness  of  Aunt  Margaret's  discipline  ; 
in  short,  she  had  all  the  various  duties  of  a  mother, 
without  the  credit  and  dignity  of  the  maternal  character. 
The  busy  scene  of  her  various  cares  is  now  over — of  the 
invalids  and  the  robust,  the  kind  and  the  rough,  the 
peevish  and  pleased  children,  who  thronged  her  little 
parlour  from  morning  to  night,  not  one  now  remains  alive 
but  myself;  who,  afflicted  by  early  infirmity,  was  one  of 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  11)9 

the    most   delicate   of  her   nurslings,  yet,  nevertheless, 
ha\e  outlived  them. 

It  is  still  my  custom,  and  shall  be  so  while  I  have  the 
use  of  my  limbs,  to  visit  my  respected  relation  at  least 
three  times  a-\veek.  Her  abode  is  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  suburbs  of  the  town  in  which  I  reside  ;  and  is 
accessible,  not  only  by  the  high-road,  from  which  it  stands 
at  some  distance,  but  by  means  of  a  greensward  foot- 
path, leading  through  some  pretty  meadows.  I  have  so 
little  left  to  torment  me  in  life,  that  it  is  one  of  my  great- 
est vexations  to  know  that  several  of  these  sequestered 
fields  have  been  devoted  as  sites  for  building.  In  that 
which  is  nearest  the  town,  wheelbarrows  have  been  at 
work  for  several  weeks  in  such  numbers,  that,  I  verily 
believe,  its  whole  surface,  to  the  depth  of  at  least  eigh- 
teen inches,  was  mounted  in  these  monotrocbs  at  the 
same  moment,  and  in  the  act  of  being  transported  from 
one  place  to  another.  Huge  triangular  piles  of  planks 
are  also  reared  in  different  parts  of  the  devoted  messuage  ; 
and  a  little  group  of  trees,  that  still  grace  the  eastern  end. 
which  rises  in  a  gentle  ascent,  have  just  received  warning 
to  quit,  expressed  by  a  daub  of  white  paint,  and  are  to 
give  place  to  a  curious  grove  of  chimneys. 

It  would,  perhaps,  hurt  others  in  my  situation  to  reflect 
that  this  little  range  of  pasturage  once  belonged  to  my 
father,  (whose  family  was  of  some  consideration  in  the 
world,)  and  was  sold  by  patches  to  remedy  distresses  in 
vrhich  he  involved  himself  in  an  attempt  by  commercial 
adventure  to  redeem  his  diminished  fortune.  While  the 
building  scheme  was  in  full  operation,  this  circumstance 
was  often  pointed  out  to  me  by  the  class  of  friends  who 
are  anxious  that  no  part  of  your  misfortunes  should  es- 
cape your  observation.  "  Such  pasture-ground  ! — lying 
at  the  very  town's  end — in  turnips  and  potatoes,  the  parks 
would  bring  £20  per  acre,  and  if  leased  for  building- 
O,  it  was  a  gold  mine  ! — And  all  sold  for  an  old  song  out 
of  the  ai  cient  possessor's  hands  !"  My  comforters  can- 
pot  bring  me  lo  repine  much  on  this  subject.  If  I  could 


200  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

be  allowed  to  look  back  on  the  past  without  interruption, 
I  could  willingly  give  up  the  enjoyment  of  present  in- 
come, and  the  hope  of  future  profit,  to  those  who  have 
purchased  what  my  father  sold.  I  regret  the  alteration 
of  the  ground  only  because  it  destroys  associations,  and 
I  would  more  willingly  (I  think)  see  the  Earl's  Closes  in 
the  hands  of  strangers,  retaining  their  sylvan  appearance, 
than  know  them  for  my  own,  if  torn  up  by  agricultuie, 
or  covered  with  buildings.  Mine  are  the  sensations  of 
poor  Logan  : 

"  The  horrid  plough  has  rased  the  green 

Where  yet  a  child  1  stray'd  ; 
The  axe  has  fell'd  the  hawthorn  scr**«, 

The  schoolboy's  summer  shade." 

I  hope,  however,  the  threatened  devastation  will  not 
be  consummated  in  my  day.  Although  the  adventurous 
spirit  of  times  short  while  since  passed  gave  rise  to  the 
undertaking,  1  have  been  encouraged  to  think,  that  the 
subsequent  changes  have  so  far  damped  the  spirit  of 
speculation,  that  the  rest  of  the  woodland  footpath  lead- 
ing to  Aunt  Margaret's  retreat  will  be  left  undisturbed 
for  her  time  and  mine.  1  am  interested  in  this,  for  every 
step  of  the  way,  after  I  had  passed  through  the  green 
already  mentioned,  has  for  me  something  of  early  re- 
membrance : — There  is  the  stile  at  which  I  can  recollect 
a  cross  child's-maid  upbraiding  me  with  my  infirmity,  as 
she  lifted  me  coarsely  and  carelessly  over  the  flinty  steps, 
which  my  brothers  traversed  with  shout  and  bound.  I 
remember  the  suppressed  bitterness  of  the  moment,  and, 
conscious  of  my  own  inferiority,  the  feeling  of  envy  with 
which  I  regarded  the  easy  movements  and  elastic  steps 
of  my  more  happily  formed  brethren.  Alas  !  these 
goodly  barks  have  all  perished  on  life's  wide  ocean,  and 
only  that  which  seemed  so  little  seaworthy,  as  the  naval 
phrase  goes,  has  reached  the  port  when  the  tempest  is 
over.  Then  there  is  the  pool,  where,  manoeuvring  our 
little  navy,  constructed  out  of  the  broad  water-flags,  my 
elder  brother  fell  in,  and  was  scarce  saved  from  the 
watery  element  to  die  under  Nelson's  banner.  There  is 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  201 

the  hazel  copse  also,  in  which  my  brother  Henry  used  to 
gather  nuts,  thinking  little  that  he  was  to  die  in  an  Indian 
jungle  in  quest  of  rupees. 

There  is  so  much  more  of  remembrance  about  the 
little  walk,  that — as  I  stop,  rest  on  my  crutch-headed 
cane,  and  look  round  with  that  species  of  comparison  be- 
tween the  thing  I  was,  and  that  which  I  now  am — it  almost 
induces  me  to  doubt  my  own  identity  ;  until  I  find  myself 
in  face  of  the  honeysuckle  porch  of  Aunt  Margaret's 
dwelling,  with  its  irregularity  of  front,  and  its  odd  pro- 
jecting latticed  windows  ;  where  the  workmen  seem  to 
have  made  a  study  that  no  one  of  them  should  resemble 
another,  in  form,  size,  or  in  the  old-fashioned  stone  en- 
tablature and  labels  which  adorn  them.  This  tenement, 
once  the  manor-house  of  Earl's  Closes,  we  still  retain  a 
slight  hold  upon  ;  for,  in  some  family  arrangements, 
it  had  been  settled  upon  Aunt  Margaret  during  the 
term  of  her  life.  Upon  this  frail  tenure  depends,  in  a 
great  measure,  the  last  shadow  of  the  family  of  Both- 
well  of  Earl's  Closes,  and  their  last  slight  connexion 
with  their  paternal  inheritance.  The  only  representa- 
tive will  then  be  an  infirm  old  man,  moving  not  unwilling- 
ly to  the  grave,  which  has  devoured  all  that  were  dear  to 
his  affections. 

When  1  have  indulged  such  thoughts  for  a  minute  or 
two,  I  enter  the  mansion,  which  is  said  to  have  been 
the  gatehouse  only  of  the  original  building,  and  find 
one  being  on  whom  time  seems  to  have  made  little 
impression  ;  for  the  Aunt  Margaret  of  to-day  bears  the 
same  proportional  age  to  the  Aunt  Margaret  of  my  early 
youth,  that  the  boy  of  ten  years  old  does  to  the  man  of 
(by'r  Lady  !)  some  fifty-six  years.  The  old  lady's  inva- 
riable costume  has  doubtless  some  share  in  confirming 

— «—«— 

one  in  the  opinion,  that  time  has  stood  still  with  Aunt 
Margaret. 

The  brown  or  chocolate-coloured  silk  «jown,  with 
ruffles  of  the  same  stuff  at  the  elbow,  within  which  are 
otheiB  of  Mechlin  lace — the  black  silk  gloves,  or  mitts 
the  white  hair  combed  back  upon  a  roll,  and  ihe  cap  ol 


202  MY     AUNT    MAKGAUK'l'g    MIRftOK. 

spotless  cambric,  which  closes  around  the  venerable  coun- 
tenance, as  they  were  not  the  costume  of  1780,  so  neither 
were  they  that  of  1826  ;  they  are  altogether  a  style  pe- 
culiar to  the  individual  Aunt  Margaret.  There  she  still 
sits,  as  she  sat  thirty  years  since,  with  her  wheel  or  the 
stocking,  which  she  works  by  the  fire  in  winter,  and  by 
the  window  in  summer ;  or,  perhaps,  venturing  as  far  as 
the  porch  in  an  unusually  fine  summer  evening.  Her 
frame,  like  some  well-constructed  piece  of  mechanics, 
still  performs  the  operations  for  which  it  had  seemed  des- 
tined ;  going  its  round  with  an  activity  which  is  gradually 
diminished,  yet  indicating  no  probability  that  it  will  soon 
come  to  a  period. 

The  solicitude  and  affection  which  had  made  Aunt 
Margaret  the  willing  slave  to  the  inflictions  of  a  whole 
nursery,  have  now  for  their  object  the  health  and  comfort 
of  one  old  and  infirm  man  ;  the  last  remaining  relative  of 
her  family,  and  the  only  one  who  can  still  find  interest  in 
the  traditional  stores  which  she  hoards  ;  as  some  miser 
hides  the  gold  which  he  desires  that  no  one  should  enjoy 
after  his  death. 

My  conversation  with  Aunt  Margaret  generally  relates 
little  either  to  the  present  or  to  the  future  :  for  the  passing 
day  we  possess  as  much  as  we  require,  and  we  neither  of  us 
wish  for  more  ;  and  for  that  which  is  to  follow  we  have  on 
this  side  of  the  grave  neither  hopes,  nor  fears,  nor  anx- 
iety. We  therefore  naturally  look  back  to  the  past  ;  and 
forget  the  present  fallen  fortunes  and  declined  impor- 
tance of  our  family,  in  recalling  the  hours  when  it  was 
wealthy  and  prosperous. 

With  this  slight  introduction,  the  reader  will  know  as 
much  of  Aunt  Margaret  and  her  nephew  as  is  necessary 
to  comprehend  in  the  following  conversation  and  nar- 
rative. 

Last  week,  when,  late  in  a  summer  evening,  I  went  to 
call  on  the  old  lady  to  whom  my  reader  is  now  intro- 
duced, I  was  received  by  her  with  all  her  usual  affection 
and  benignity  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  she  seemed  ab- 
stracted and  disposed  to  silence.  I  asked  her  the  reason 


MY  AUKT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  £03 

1  They  have  been  clearing  out  the  old  chapel,"  she  said  ; 
u  John  Clayhudgeons  having,  it  seems,  discovered  that 
the  stuff  within — being,  I  suppose,  the  remains  of  our 
ancestors — was  excellent  for  top-dressing  the  meadows." 

Here  I  started  up  with  more  alacrity  than  I  have  dis- 
played for  some  years  ;  but  sat  down  while  my  aunl 
added,  laying  her  hand  upon  my  sleeve,  "  The  chapel 
has  been  long  considered  as  common  ground,  my  dear, 
am;  used  for  a  peiifold,  and  what  objection  can  we  have 
to  the  man  for  employing  what  is  his  own,  to  his  own 
profit  i  Besides,  1  did  speak  to  him,  and  he  very  readily 
aad  civilly  promised,  that,  if  he  found  bones  or  monu- 
ments, they  should  be  carefully  respected  and  reinstated  ; 
and  what  more  could  1  ask  ?  So,  the  first  stone  thev 
found,  bore  the  name  of  Margaret  Bothwell,  1585,  and  £ 
have  caused  it  to  be  laid  carefully  aside,  as  I  think  it  be- 
tokens death  ;  and  having  served  my  namesake  two  hun- 
dred years,  it  has  just  been  cast  up  in  time  to  do  me  the 
same  good  turn.  My  house  has  been  long  put  in  order, 
as  far  as  the  small  earthly  concerns  require  it,  but  who 
shall  say  that  their  account  with  Heaven  is  sufficiently 
revised  !" 

"  After  what  vou  have  said,  aunt."  T  rpplied,  "  per- 
haps I  ought  to  take  my  hat  and  go  away,  and  so  I  should, 
but  that  there  is  on  this  occasion  a  little  alloy  mingled 
with  your  devotion.  To  think  of  death  at  all  times  is  a 
duty — to  suppose  it  nearer,  from  the  finding  an  old  grave- 
stone, is  superstition  ;  and  you,  with  your  strong  useful 
common  sense,  which  was  so  long  the  prop  of  a  fallen 
family,  are  the  last  person  whom  I  should  have  suspec  ted 
of  such  weakness." 

•'<  Neither  would  I  deserve  your  suspicions,  kinsman," 
answered  Aunt  Margaret,  "  if  we  were  speaking  of  any 
incident  occurring  in  the  actual  business  of  human  life. 
But  for  all  this,  I  have  a  sense  of  superstition  about  me, 
which  I  do  not  wish  to  part  with.  It  is  a  feeling  which 
separates  me  from  this  age,  and  links  me  with  that  to 
which  I  am  hastening  ;  and  even  when  it  seems,  as  now, 
to  lead  me  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  bids  me  gaze 


204  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

on  it,  I  do  not  love  that  it  should  be  dispt  led.  It 
soothes  rny  imagination,  without  influencing  mv  reason 
or  conduct." 

"  I  profess,  my  good  lady,"  replied  I,  "  that  had  any 
one  but  you  made  such  a  declaration,  I  should  have  thought 
it  as  capricious  as  that  of  the  clergyman,  who,  without 
vindicating  his  false  reading,  preferred,  from  habit's  sake, 
his  old  Mumpsimus  to  the  modern  Sumpsimus." 

"  Well,"  answered  my  aunt,  "  I  must  explain  my  in- 
consistency in  this  particular,  by  comparing  it  to  another. 
I  am,  as  you  know,  a  piece  of  that  old-fashioned  thing 
called  a  Jacobite ;  but  I  am  so  in  sentiment  and  feeling 
only  ;  for  a  more  loyal  subject  never  joined  in  prayers 
for  the  health  and  wealth  of  George  the  Fourth,  whom 
God  long  preserve  !  But  I  dare  say  that  kind-hearted 
sovereign  would  not  deem  that  an  old  woman  did  him 
much  injury,  if  she  leaned  back  in  her  arm-chair,  just  in 
such  a  twilight  as  this,  and  thought  of  the  high-mettled 
men,  whose  sense  of  duty  called  them  to  arms  against 
his  grandfather  ;  and  how,  in  a  cause  which  they  deemed 
that  of  their  rightful  prince  and  country 

'  They  fought  till  their  hand  to  the  broadsword  was  glued 
They  fought  against  fortune  with  hearts  unsubdued.' 

Do  not  come  at  such  a  moment,  when  my  head  is  full  of 
plaids,  pibrochs,  and  claymores,  and  ask  my  reason  to 
admit  what,  I  am  afraid,  it  cannot  deny — I  mean,  that 
tlie  public  advantage  peremptorily  demanded  that  these 
things  should  cease  to  exist.  I  cannot,  indeed,  refuse  to 
allow  the  justice  of  your  reasoning  ;  but  yet,  being  con- 
vinced against  my  will,  you  will  gain  little  by  your  mo- 
tion. You  might  as  well  read  to  an  infatuated  lover  the 
catalogue  of  his  mistress's  imperfections ;  for,  when  he 
has  been  compelled  to  listen  to  the  summary,  you  will 
only  get  for  answer,  that,  '  he  lo'es  her  a'  the  better.'  ' 

I  was  not  sorry  to  have  changed  the  gloomy  train  of 
Aunt  Margaiel's  thoughts,  and  replied  in  the  same  tone, 
"  Well,  I  can't  help  being  persuaded  that  our  good  King 
is  the  more  sure  of  Mrs.  Bothwell's  loval  affection,  thai 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  20-3 

he  has  the  Stuart  right  of  birth,  as  well  as  the  Act  of 
Succession  in  his  favour." 

"  Perhaps  my  attachment,  were  its  source  of  conse- 
quence, might  be  found  warmer  for  the  union  of  the 
rights  you  mention,"  said  Aunt  Margaret ;  ;'  but,  upon 
my  word,  it  would  be  as  sincere  if  the  King's  right  were 
founded  only  on  the  will  of  the  nation,  as  declared  at  the 
Revolution.  I  am  none  of  your  jure  divino  folks." 

"  And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding." 

"  And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding ;  or  rather,  I  will 
give  you  leave  to  call  me  one  of  the  party,  which,  in 
Queen  Anne's  time,  were  called  Whimsicals ;  because 
they  were  sometimes  operated  upon  by  feelings,  some- 
times by  principle.  After  all,  it  is  very  hard  that  you 
will  not  allow  an  old  woman  to  be  as  inconsistent  in  her 
political  sentiments,  as  mankind  in  general  show  them- 
selves in  all  the  various  courses  of  life  ;  since  you  cannot 
point  out  one  of  them,  in  which  the  passions  and  preju- 
dices of  those  who  pursue  it  are  not  perpetually  carrying 
us  away  from  the  path  which  our  reason  points  out." 

"  True,  aunt ;  but  you  are  a  wilful  wanderer,  who 
should  be  forced  back  into  the  right  path." 

"  Spare  me,  I  entreat  you,"  replied  Aunt  Margaret. 
"  You  remember  the  Gaelic  song,  though  I  dare  say  I 
mispronounce  the  words — 

'  Hatil  mohatil,  na  dowski  mi.' 
'  I  am  asleep,  do  uot  waken  me.' 

I  tell  you,  kinsman,  that  the  sort  of  waking  dreams  which 
my  imagination  spins  out,  in  what  your  favourite  Words- 
worth calls  '  moods  of  my  own  mind,'  are  worth  all  the 
rest  of  my  more  active  days.  Then,  instead  of  looking 
forwards,  as  I  did  in  youth,  and  forming  for  myself  fairy 
palaces,  upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  I  turn  my  eyes 
backward  upon  the  days  and  manners  of  my  better  time  ; 
and  the  sad,  yet  soothing  recollections  come  so  close  and 
interesting,  that  1  almost  think  it  sacrilege  to  be  wiser  01 
20  VOL.  ii. 


206  MY    AUNT    MARGAIJF.  T*S    MIRROR. 

more  rational,  or  less  prejudiced,  than  those  to  whor.i  ] 
looked  up  in  my  younger  years." 

"  L  think  1  now  understand  \vhat  you  mean,"  1  answer- 
ed, "and  can  comprehend  why  you  should  occasionally 
prefer  the  twilight  of  illusion  to  the  steady  light  of 
reason." 

"  Where  there  is  no  task,"  she  rejoined,  "  to  be  per- 
formed, we  may  sit  in  the  dark  if  we  like  it — if  we  go 
to  work,  we  must  ring  for  candles." 

"  And  amidst  such  shadowy  and  doubtful  light,"  con- 
tinued I,  "  imagination  frames  her  enchanted  and  en- 
chanting visions,  and  sometimes  passes  them  upon  the 
senses  for  reality." 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Margaret,  who  is  a  well-read  woman, 
"  to  those  who  resemble  the  translator  of  Tasso, 

'  Prevailing  poet,  whose  undouhting  mind, 
Believed  llie  magic  wonders  which  he  sung.' 

It  is  not  required  for  this  purpose,  that  you  should  be 
sensible  of  the  painful  horrors  which  an  actual  belief  in 
such  prodigies  inflicts — such  a  belief,  now-a-days.  belongs 
only  to  fools  and  children.  It  is  not  necessary  that  your 
ears  should  tingle,  and  your  complexion  change,  like  that 
of  Theodore,  at  the  approach  of  the  spectral  huntsman. 
All  that  is  indispensable  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  milder 
feeling  of  supernatural  awe  is,  that  you  should  be  suscep- 
tible of  the  slight  shuddering  which  creeps  over  you 
when  you  hear  a  tale  of  terror — that  well-vouched  tale 
which  the  narrator,  having  first  expressed  his  general 
disbelief  of  all  such  legendary  lore,  selects  and  produces, 
as  having  something  in  it  which  he  has  been  always 
obliged  to  give  up  as  inexplicable.  Another  symptom 
is,  a  momentary  hesitation  to  look  round  you,  when  the 
interest  of  the  narrative  is  at  the  highest ;  and  the  third, 
a  desire  to  avoid  looking  into  a  mirror,  when  you  are 
alone,  \n  your  chamber,  for  the  evening.  I  mean  such 
are  signs  which  indicate  the  crisis,  when  a  female  imagi- 
nation is  in  due  temperature  to  enjoy  a  ghost  story.  I 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIUKOK.  201 

do  not  pretend  to  describe  those  which  express  the  same 
disposition  in  a  gentleman." 

"  That  last  symptom,  dear  aunt,  of  shunning  the  mir- 
ror, seems  likely  to  be  a  rare  occurrence  amongst  the 
fair  sex." 

"  You  are  a  novice  in  toilet  fashions,  my  dear  cousin. 
All  women  consult  the  looking-glass  with  anxiety  before 
they  go  into  company  ;  but  when  they  return  home,  the 
mirror  has  not  the  same  charm.  The  die  has  been  cast 
— the  party  has  been  successful  or  unsuccessful,  in  the 
impression  which  she  desired  to  make.  But,  without 
going  deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  the  dressing-table,  I 
will  tell  you  that  I  myself,  like  many  other  honest  folks, 
do  not  like  to  see  the  blank  black  front  of  a  large  mirror 
in  a  room  dimly  lighted,  and  where  the  reflection  of  the 
candle  seems  rather  to  lose  itself  in  the  deep  obscurity 
of  the  glass,  than  to  be  reflected  back  again  into  the 
apartment.  That  space  of  inky  darkness  seems  to  be  a 
field  for  Fancy  to  play  her  revels  in.  She  may  call  up 
other  features  to  meet  us,  instead  of  the  reflection  of  our 
own  ;  or,  as  in  the  spells  of  Hallowe'en,  which  we  learn- 
ed in  childhood,  some  unknown  form  may  be  seen  peep- 
ing over  our  shoulder.  In  short,  when  I  arn  in  a  ghost- 
seeing  humour,  I  make  my  handmaiden  draw  the  green 
curtains  over  the  mirror,  before  I  go  into  the  room,  so 
that  she  may  have  the  first  shock  of  the  apparition,  if 
there  be  any  to  be  seen.  But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  this 
dislike  to  look  into  a  mirror  in  particular  times  and  places, 
has,  I  believe,  its  original  foundation  in  a  story  which 
came  to  me  by  tradition  from  my  grandmother,  who  was 
a  party  concerned  in  the  scene  of  which  I  will  now 
tell  you." 


208  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


STije  Jfctrrov. 

CHAPTER  I. 

You  are  fond  (said  my  aunt)  of  sketches  of  the  ooci- 
ety  which  has  passed  away.  I  wish  I  could  describe  to 
you  Sir  Philip  Forester,  the  "  chartered  libertine"  of 
Scottish  good  company,  about  the  end  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. I  never  saw  him  indeed  ;  but  my  mother's  tra- 
ditions were  full  of  his  wit,  gallantry,  and  dissipation. 
This  gay  knight  flourished  about  the  end  of  the  17th 
and  beginning  of  the  18th  century.  He  was  the  Sir 
Charles  Easy  and  the  Lovelace  of  his  day  and  country  : 
renowned  for  the  number  of  duels  he  had  fought,  and 
the  successful  intrigues  which  he  had  carried  on.  The 
supremacy  which  he  had  attained  in  the  fashionable  world 
was  absolute  ;  and  when  we  combine  it  with  one  or  two 
anecdotes,  for  which,  "  if  laws  were  made  for  every  de- 
gree," he  ought  certainly  to  have  been  hanged,  the  popu- 
larity of  such  a  person  really  serves  to  show,  either,  that 
the  present  times  are  much  more  decent,  if  not  more 
virtuous,  than  they  formerly  were  ;  or,  that  high  breed- 
ing then  was  of  more  difficult  attainment  than  that  which 
is  now  so  called  ;  and,  consequently,  entitled  the  success- 
Oil  professor  to  a  proportional  degree  of  plenary  indul- 
gences and  privileges.  No  beau  of  this  day  could  have 
jorne  out  so  ugly  a  story  as  that  of  Pretty  Peggy  Grind- 
stone, the  miller's  daughter  at  Sillermills — it  had  well 
nigh  made  work  for  the  Lord  Advocate.  But  it  hurt  Sir 
Philip  Forester  no  more  than  the  hail  hurts  the  hearth. ' 
stone.  He  was  as  well  received  in  society  as  ever,  and 

dined   with   the   Duke  of  A the  day  the   poor  girl 

was   buried.     She   died   of  heart-break.     But   that   has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  story. 

Now,  you  must  listen  to  a  single  word  upon  kith,  kin, 
and  ally  ;  I  promise   you  I  will  not  be  prolix.     But  it  in 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  209 

necessary  to  the  authenticity  of  my  legend,  that  you 
should  know  that  Sir  Philip  Forester,  with  his  handsome 
person,  elegant  accomplishments,  and  fashionable  man- 
ners, married  the  younger  Miss  Falconer  of  King's-Cqp- 
land.  The  elder  sister  of  this  lady  had  previously  be- 
come the  wife  of  my  grandfather,  Sir  Geoffrey  Bothwell, 
and  brought  into  our  family  a  good  fortune.  JMiss  Je- 
mima, or  Miss  Jemmie  Falconer,  as  she  was  usually 
called,  had  also  about  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling — then 
thought  a  very  handsome  portion  indeed. 

The  two  sisters  were  extremely  different,  though  each 
had  their  admirers  while  they  remained  single.  Lady 
Bothwell  had  some  touch  of  the  old  King's-Copland 
blood  about  her.  She  was  bold,  though  not  to  the  de- 
gree of  audacity ;  ambitious,  and  desirous  to  raise  her 
house  and  family  ;  and  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  conside- 
rable spur  to  my  grandfather,  who  was  otherwise  an  in- 
dolent man  ;  but  whom,  unless  he  has  been  slandered, 
his  lady's  influence  involved  in  some  political  matters 
which  had  been  more  wisely  let  alone.  She  was  a  woman 
of  high  principle,  however,  and  masculine  good  sense,  as 
some  of  her  letters  testify,  which  are  still  in  my  wainscot 
cabinet. 

Jemmie  Falconer  was  the  reverse  of  her  sister  in  every 
respect.  Her  understanding  did  not  reach  above  the 
ordinary  pitch,  if,  indeed,  she  could  be  said  to  have  at- 
tained it.  Her  beauty,  while  it  lasted,  consisted,  in  a 
great  measure,  of  delicacy  of  complexion  and  regularity 
of  features,  without  any  peculiar  force  of  expression. 
Even  these  charms  faded  under  the  sufferings  attendant 
on  an  ill-sorted  match.  She  was  passionately  attached 
to  her  husband,  by  whom  she  was  treated  with  a  callous, 
yet  polite  indifference  ;  whith,  to  one  whose  heart  was 
as  tender  as  her  judgment  was  weak,  was  more  painful 
perhaps  than  absolute  ill  usage.  Sir  Philip  was  a  volup- 
tuary, that  is,  a  completely  selfish  egotist ;  whose  dispo- 
sition and  character  resembled  the  rapier  he  wore,  polished, 
keen,  and  brilliant,  but  inflexible  and  unpitying.  As  h*» 
VOL. 


210  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

observed  carefully  all  the  usual  forms  towards  his  lady, 
he  had  the  art  to  deprive  her  even  of  the  compassion  of 
the  world  ;  and  useless  and  unavailing  as  that  may  be 
while  actually  possessed  by  the  sufferer,  it  is,  to  a  mind 
like  Lady  Forester's,  most  painful  to  know  she  has 
it  not. 

The  tattle  of  society  did  its  best  to  place  the  peccant 
husband  above  the  suffering  wife.  Some  called  her  a 
poor  spiritless  thing,  and  declared,  that,  with  a  little  of 
her  sister's  spirit,  she  might  have  brought  to  reason  any 
Sir  Philip  whatsoever,  were  it  the  termagant  Falconbridge 
himself.  But  the  greater  part  of  their  acquaintance 
affected  candour,  and  saw  faults  on  both  sides  j  though, 
in  fact,  there  only  existed  the  oppressor  and  the  oppress- 
ed. The  tone  of  such  critics  was — "  To  be  sure,  no 
one  wrill  justify  Sir  Philip  Forester,  but  then  we  all  know 
Sir  Philip,  and  Jprnmie  Falconer  might  have  known  what 
she  had  to  expect  from  the  beginning. — What  made  her 
set  her  cap  at  Sir  Philip? — He  would  never  have  looked 
at  her  if  she  had  not  thrown  herself  at  his  head,  with 
her  poor  ten  thousand  pounds.  I  am  sure,  if  it  is  money 
he  wanted,  she  spoiled  his  market.  I  know  where  Sir 
Philip  could  have  done  much  better. — And  then,  if  she 
would  have  the  man,  could  not  she  try  to  make  him 
more  comfortable  at  home,  and  have  his  friends  oftener, 
and  not  plague  him  with  the  squalling  children,  and  take 
care  all  was  handsome  and  in  good  style  about  the 
house  ?  I  declare  1  think  Sir  Philip  would  have  made 
a  very  domestic  man,  with  a  woman  who  knew  how  to 
manage  him." 

Now  these  fair  critics,  in  raising  their  profound  edifice 
of  domestic  felicity,  did  not  recollect  that  the  comer- 
stone  was  wanting  ;  and  tlrat  to  receive  good  companj 
with  good  cheer,  the  means  of  the  banquet  ought  to  have 
been  furnished  by  Sir  Philip  ;  whose  income  (dilapidated 
as  it  was)  was  not  equal  to  the  display  of  the  hospi'ality 
required,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  supply  of  the 
gocH  knight's  menus  plnisirs.  So,  in  spite  of  all  that 
was  so  sagely  suggested  by  female  friends,  Sir  Philip 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  211 

tarried  his  good-humour  everywhere  abroad,  and  left  at 
home  a  solitary  mansion  and  a  pining  spouse. 

At  length,  inconvenienced  in  his  money  affairs,  and 
tired  even  of  the  short  time  which  he  spent  in  his  own 
dull  house,  Sir  Philip  Forester  determined  to  take  a  trip 
to  the  continent,  in  the  capacity  of  a  volunteer.  It  was 
then  common  for  men  of  fashion  to  do  so  ;  and  our  knight 
perhaps  was  of  opinion  that  a  touch  of  the  military 
character,  just  enough  to  exalt,  but  not  render  pedantic, 
his  qualities  as  a  beau  garcon,  was  necessary  to  maintain 
pos^ssion  of  the  elevated  situation  which  he  held  in  the 
ranks  of  fashion. 

Sir  Philip's  resolution  threw  his  wife  into  agonies  of 
terror ;  by  which  the  worthy  baronet  Was  so  much  an- 
noyed, that,  contrary  to  his  wont,  he  took  some  trouble 
to  soothe  her  apprehensions  ;  and  once  more  brought  her 
to  shed  tears,  in  which  sorrow  was  not  altogether  unmin- 
gled  with  pleasure.  Lady  Bothwell  asked,  as  a  favour, 
Sir  Philip's  permission  to  receive  her  sister  and  her 
family  into  her  own  house  during  his  absence  on  the  con- 
tinent. Sir  Philip  readily  assented  to  a  proposition  which 
saved  expense,  silenced  the  foolish  people  who  might 
have  talked  of  a  deserted  wife  and  family,  and  gratified 
Lady  Bothwell ;  for  whom  he  felt  some  respect,  as  for 
one  who  often  spoke  to  him,  always  with  freedom,  and 
sometimes  with  severity,  without  being  deterred  either  by 
his  raillery,  or  the  prestige  of  his  reputation. 

A  day  or  two  before  Sir  Philip's  departure,  Lady 
Bothwell  took  the  liberty  of  asking  him,  in  her  sister's 
presence,  the  direct  question,  which  his  timid  wife  had 
often  desired,  but  never  ventured,  to  put  to  him. 

"  Pray,  Sir  Philip,  what  route  do  you  take  when  you 
reach  the  continent  ?" 

"  I  go  from  Leith  to  Helvoet  by  a  packet  with  ad- 
vices." 

"  That  I  comprehend  perfectly,"  said  Lady  Bothwell 
dryly  ;  "  but  you  do  not  mean  to  remain  long  at  Hel- 
voet, I  presume,  and  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  your 
floxt  object  r" 


212  MY  AUNT  MARGARKT'S  MIRROR. 

"  You  ask  me,  my  dear  lady,"  answered  Sii  Philip, 
"  a  question  which  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  myself.  The 
answer  depends  on  the  fate  of  war.  I  shall,  of  course 
go  to  head-quarters,  wherever  they  may  happen  to  be  for 
the  time  ;  deliver  my  letters  of  introduction  ;  learn  as 
much  of  the  noble  art  of  war  as  may  suffice  a  poor  in- 
terloping amateur  ;  and  then  take  a  glance  at  the  sort  of 
thing  of  which  we  read  so  much  in  the  Gazette." 

"  And  I  trust,  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  that 
you  will  remember  that  you  are  a  husband  and  a  father  ; 
and  that  though  you  think  fit  to  indulge  this  military 
fancy,  you  will  not  let  it  hurry  you  into  dangers  which 
it  is  certainly  unnecessary  for  any  save  professional  per- 
sons to  encounter  ?" 

"  Lady  Bothwell  does  me  too  much  honour,"  replied 
the  adventurous  knight,  "  in  regarding  such  a  circum- 
stance with  the  slightest  interest.  But  to  soothe  your 
flattering  anxiety,  I  trust  your  ladyship  will  recollect, 
that  I  cannot  expose  to  hazard  the  venerable  and  pater- 
nal character  which  you  so  obligingly  recommend  to  my 
protection,  without  putting  in  some  peril  an  honest  fellow, 
called  Philip  Forester,  with  whom  I  have  kept  company 
for  thirty  years,  and  with  whom,  though  some  folks 
consider  him  a  coxcomb,  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to 
part." 

"  Well,  Sir  Philip,  you  are  the  best  judge  of  your 
own  affairs  ;  I  have  little  right  to  interfere  —  you  are  not 
my  husband." 

"  God  forbid  !"  —  said  Sir  Philip  hastily  ;  instantly 
adding,  however,  "  God  forbid  that  I  should  deprive  my 
friend  Sir  Geoffrey  of  so  inestimable  a  treasure." 

"  But  you  are  my  sister's  husband,"  replied  the  lady  ; 
"  and  I  suppose  you  are  aware  of  her  present  distress  of 


"  If  hearing  of  nothing  else  from  morning  to  night  can 
make  ne  aware  of  it,"  said  Sir  Philip,  "  I  should  know 
sometning  of  the  matter." 

"  1  do  not  pretend  to  reply  to  your  wit,  Sir  Phi'.p," 
answered  Lad)  Bothwell;  "but  you  must  be  sensible 


MY    AUNT    MARGARET  S    MIRROR.  213 

tint   all  this  distress  is  on  account  of  apprehensions  for 
your  personal  safety." 

"  In  that  case,  I  am  surprised  that  Lady  Bothwell,  at 
least,  should  give  herself  so  much  trouble  upon  so  insig- 
nificant a  subject." 

"  My  sister's  interest  may  account  for  my  being  anx- 
ious to  learn  something  of  Sir  Philip  Forester's  motions ; 
about  which  otherwise,  I  know,  he  would  not  wish  me 
to  concern  myself :  I  have  a  brother's  safety  too  to  be 
anxious  for." 

"  You  mean  Major  Falconer,  your  brother  by  the 
mother's  side  : — What  can  he  possibly  have  to  do  with 
our  present  agreeable  conversation  ?" 

"  You  have  had  words  together,  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady 
Bothwell. 

"  Naturally  ;  we  are  connexions,"  replied  Sir  Philip, 
"  and  as  such  have  always  had  the  usual  intercourse." 

"  That  is  an  evasion  of  the  subject,"  answered  the 
lady.  "  By  words,  I  mean  angry  words,  on  the  subject 
of  your  usage  of  your  wife." 

"  If,"  replied  Sir  Philip  Forester,  "  you  suppose  Major 
Falconer  simple  enough  to  intrude  his  advice  upon  me, 
Lady  Bothwell,  in  my  domestic  matters,  you  are  indeed 
warranted  in  believing  that  I  might  possibly  be  so  far 
displeased  with  the  interference,  as  to  request  him  to  re- 
serve his  advice  till  it  was  asked." 

"  And  being  on  these  terms,  you  are  going  to  join  the 
very  army  in  which  my  brother  Falconer  is  now  serv- 
ing?" 

"  No  man  knows  the  path  of  honour  better  than  Major 
Falconer,"  said  Sir  Philip.  "  An  aspirant  after  fame, 
like  me,  cannot  choose  a  better  guide  than  his  footsteps." 

Lady  Bothwell  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  the  tears 
gushing  from  her  eyes. 

"  And  this  heartless  raillery,"  she  said,  "  is  all  the 
consideration  that  is  to  be  given  to  our  apprehensions  of 
a  quarrel  which  may  bring  on  the  most  terrible  conse- 
quences 7  Good  God  !  of  what  can  men's  hearts  be  made 
can  :hus  dally  with  the  agony  of  others  ?" 
551 


MY  AUNT  MARGARETS  MIRROR. 

Sir  Philip  Forester  was  moved  ;  he  laid  aside  the 
mocking  tone  in  which  he  had  hitherto  spoken. 

"  Dear  Lady  Bothwell,"  he  said,  taking  her  reluctant 
hand,  "  we  are  both  wrong  : — you  are  too  deeply  seri- 
ous ;  I,  perhaps,  too  little  so.  The  dispute  I  had  with 
Major  Falconer  was  of  no  earthly  consequence.  Had 
anything  occurred  betwixt  us  that  ought  to  have  been 
settled  par  voie  du  fait,  as  we  say  in  France,  neither  of 
us  are  persons  that  are  likely  to  postpone  such  a  meet- 
ing. Permit  me  to  say,  that  were  it  generally  known 
that  you  or  my  Lady  Forester  are  apprehensive  of  such 
a  catastrophe,  it  might  be  the  very  means  of  bringing 
about  what  would  not  otherwise  be  likely  to  happen.  1 
know  your  good  sense,  Lady  Bothwell,  and  that  you  will 
understand  me  when  I  say,  that  really  my  affairs  require 
my  absence  for  some  months  ; — this  Jemima  cannot  un- 
derstand ;  it  is  a  perpetual  recurrence  of  questions,  why 
can  you  not  do  this,  or  that,  or  the  third  thing  ;  and, 
when  you  have  proved  to  her  that  her  expedients  are  to- 
tally ineffectual,  you  have  just  to  begin  the  whole  round 
again.  Now,  do  you  tell  her,  dear  Lady  Bothwell,  that 
you  are  satisfied.  She  is,  you  must  confess,  one  of  those 
persons  with  whom  authority  goes  farther  than  reasoning. 
Do  but  repose  a  little  confidence  in  me,  and  you  shall 
see  how  amply  I  will  repay  it." 

Lady  Bothwell  shook  her  head,  as  one  but  half  satis- 
fied. "  How  difficult  it  is  to  extend  confidence,  when 
the  basis  on  which  it  ought  to  rest  has  been  so  much 
shaken  !  But  1  will  do  my  best  to  make  Jemima  easy  ; 
and  farther,  I  can  only  say,  that  for  keeping  your  pres- 
ent purpose  I  hold  you  responsible  both  to  God  and 
man." 

"  Do  not  fear  that  I  will  deceive  you,"  said  Sir  Philip  ; 
"  the  safest  conveyance  to  me  will  be  through  the  gene- 
ral post-office,  Helvoetsluys,  where  I  will  take  care  to 
leave  orders  for  forwarding  my  letters.  As  for  Falconer, 
our  only  encounter  will  be  over  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  ; 
80  make  yourself  perfectly  easy  on  his  score." 

Lady  Bothwell  could  not  make  herself  easy  ;  yet  she 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  215 

^as  sensible  that  her  sister  hurt  her  own  cause  by  taking 
on,  as  the  maid-servants  call  it,  too  vehemently  ;  and  by 
showing  before  every  stranger,  by  manner,  and  sometimes 
by  words  also,  a  dissatisfaction  with  her  husband's  jour- 
ney, that  was  sure  to  come  to  his  ears,  and  equally  cer- 
tain to  displease  him.  But  there  was  no  help  for  this 
domestic  dissension,  which  ended  only  with  the  day  of 
separation. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell,  with  precision,  the  year  in 
which  Sir  Philip  Forester  went  over  to  Flanders  ;  but  it 
was  one  of  those  in  which  the  campaign  opened  with  ex- 
traordinary fury  ;  and  many  bloody,  though  indecisive, 
skirmishes  were  fought  between  the  French  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  Allies  on  the  other.  In  all  our  modern  im- 
provements, there  are  none,  perhaps,  greater  than  in  the 
accuracy  and  speed  with  which  intelligence  is  transmitted 
from  any  scene  of  action  to  those  in  this  country  whom 
it  may  concern.  During  Marlborough's  campaigns,  the 
sufferings  of  the  many  who  had  relations  in,  or  along 
with,  the  army,  were  greatly  augmented  by  the  suspense 
in  which  they  were  detained  for  weeks,  after  they  had 
heard  of  bloody  battles,  in  which,  in  all  probability,  those 
for  whom  their  bosoms  throbbed  with  anxiety  had  been 
personally  engaged.  Amongst  those  who  were  most 
agonized  by  this  state  of  uncertainty  was  the — I  had  al- 
most said  deserted — wife  of  the  gay  Sir  Philip  Forester. 
A  single  letter  had  informed  her  of  his  arrival  on  the 
continent — no  others  were  received.  One  notice  oc- 
curred in  the  newspapers,  in  which  Volunteer  Sir  Philip 
Forester  was  mentioned  as  having  been  entrusted  with  a 
dangerous  reconnoissance,  which  he  had  executed  with 
the  greatest  courage,  dexterity,  and  intelligence,  and  re- 
ceived the  thanks  of  the  commanding  officei1.  The  sense 
of  his  having  acquired  distinction  brought  a  momentary 
glow  into  the  lady's  pale  cheek  ;  but  it  was  instantly  iosi 
in  ashen  whiteness  at  the  recollection  of  his  danger. 
After  this,  they  had  no  news  whatever,  neither  from  Sir 
Philip,  nor  even  from  their  brother  Falconei.  The;  case 
of  Lad)  Forester  was  not  indeed  different  from  that  of 


216  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

hundreus  in  the  same  situation  ;  but  a  feeble  mind  is 
necessarily  an  irritable  one,  and  the  suspense  which  some 
bear  with  constitutional  indifference  or  philosophical  resig- 
nation, and  some  with  a  disposition  to  believe  and  hope 
the  best,  was  intolerable  to  Lady  Forester,  at  once  soli- 
tary and  sensitive,  low-spirited,  and  devoid  of  strength  of 
mind,  whether  natural  or  acquired. 


CHAPTER  II. 

As  she  received  no  further  news  of  Sir  Philip,  wheth- 
er directly  or  indirectly,  his  unfortunate  lady  began  now 
to  feel  a  sort  of  consolation,  even  in  those  careless  habits 
which  had  so  often  given  her  pain.  "  He  is  so  thought- 
less," she  repeated  a  hundred  times  a-day  to  her  sister, 
"  he  never  writes  when  things  are  going  on  smoothly ;  it 
is  his  way  :  had  anything  happened  he  would  have  in- 
formed us." 

Lady  Bothwell  listened  to  her  sister  without  attempt- 
ing to  console  her.  Probably  she  might  be  of  opinion, 
that  even  the  worst  intelligence  which  could  be  received 
from  Flanders  might  not  be  without  some  touch  of  con- 
solation ;  and  that  the  Dowager  Lady  Forester,  if  so  she 
was  doomed  to  be  called,  might  have  a  source  of  happi- 
ness unknown  to  the  wife  of  the  gayest  and  finest  gen- 
tleman in  Scotland.  This  conviction  became  stronger  as 
they  learned  from  enquiries  made  at  head-quarters,  that 
Sir  Philip  was  no  longer  with  the  army  ;  though  whether 
he  had  been  taken  or  slain  in  some  of  those  skirmishes 
which  were  perpetually  occurring,  and  in  which  he 
loved  to  distinguish  himself,  or  whether  he  had,  for 
some  unknown  reason  or  capricious  change  of  mind, 
voluntarily  left  the  service,  none  of  his  countrymen  in 
the  camp  of  the  allies  could  form  even  a  conjecture. 
Meantime  his  creditors  at  home  became  clamorous,  en- 
tered into  possession  of  his  property,  and  threatened  his 
person,  should  he  be  rash  ej  ough  to  return  to  Scotland. 


MY  AUNT  MARGARETS  MIRROR. 

These  additional  disadvantages  aggravated  Lady  Both- 
well's  displeasure  against  the  fugitive  husband  ;  while 
her  sister  saw  nothing  in  any  of  them,  save  what  tended 
to  increase  her  grief  for  the  ahsence  of  him  whom  her 
imagination  now  represented, — as  it  had  before  marriage, 
— gallant,  gay,  and  affectionate. 

About  this  period  there  appeared  in  Edinburgh  a  man 
of  singular  appearance  and  pretensions.  He  was  com- 
monly called  the  Paduan  Doctor,  from  having  received 
his  education  at  that  famous  university.  He  was  sup- 
posed to  possess  some  rare  receipts  in  medicine,  with 
which,  it  was  affirmed,  he  had  wrought  remarkable  cures. 
But  though,  on  the.  one  hand,  the  physicians  of  Edin- 
burgh termed  him  an  empiric,  there  were  many  persons, 
and  among  them  some  of  the  clergy,  who,  while  they 
admitted  the  truth  of  the  cures  and  the  force  of  his  reme- 
dies, alleged  that  Doctor  Baptista  Damiotti  made  use  of 
charms  and  unlawful  arts  in  order  to  obtain  success  in  his 
practice.  The  resorting  to  him  was  even  solemnly  preach- 
ed against,  as  a  seeking  of  health  from  idols,  and  a  trust- 
ing to  the  help  which  was  to  come  from  Egypt.  But 
the  protection  which  the  Paduan  Doctor  received  from 
some  friends  of  interest  and  consequence,  enabled  him  to 
set  these  imputations  at  defiance,  and  to  assume,  even  in 
the  city  of  Edinburgh,  famed  as  it  was  for  abhorrence  of 
witches  and  necromancers,  the  dangerous  character  of  an 
expounder  of  futurity.  It  was  at  length  rumoured,  that, 
for  a  certain  gratification,  which  of  course  was  not  an  in- 
considerable one,  Doctor  Baptista  Damiotti  could  tell  the 
fate  of  the  absent,  and  even  show  his  visiters  the  personal 
form  ^f  their  absent  friends,  and  the  action  in  which  they 
were  engaged  at  the  moment.  This  rumour  came  to  the 
ears  of  Lady  Forester,  who  had  reached  that  pitch  of 
mental  agony  in  which  the  sufferer  will  do  any  thing,  or 
endure  any  thing,  that  suspense  may  be  converted  into 
certainty. 

Gentle  and  timid  in  most  cases,  her  state  of  mind  made 
her  equally  obstinate  and  reckless,  and  it  v;as  with  no 

VOL.    II. 


218  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

small  surprise  and  alarm  that  her  sister  Lady  Both  well, 
heard  her  express  a  resolution  to  visit  this  man  of  art, 
and  learn  from  him  the  fate  of  her  husband.  Lady 
Bothwell  remonstrated  on  the  improbability  that  such 
pretensions  as  those  of  this  foreigner  could  be  founded  in 
anything  but  imposture. 

"  I  care  rot,"  said  the  deserted  wife,  "  what  degree  of 
ridicule  I  may  incur ;  if  there  be  any  one  chance  out  of  a 
hundred  that  I  may  obtain  some  certainty  of  my  hus- 
band's fate,  I  would  not  miss  that  chance  for  whatever 
else  the  world  can  offer  me." 

Lady  Bothwell  next  urged  the  unlawfulness  of  resort- 
ing to  such  sources  of  forbidden  knowledge. 

"  Sister,"  replied  the  sufferer,  "  he  who  is  dying  of 
thirst  cannot  refrain  from  drinking  even  poisoned  water. 
She  who  suffers  under  suspense  must  seek  information, 
even  were  the  powers  which  offer  it  unhallowed  and  in- 
fernal. I  go  to  learn  my  fate  alone  ;  and  this  very  eve- 
ning will  I  know  it :  the  sun  that  rises  to-morrow  shall 
find  me,  if  not  more  happy,  at  least  more  resigned." 

"  Sister,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  if  you  are  determined 
upon  this  wild  step,  you  shall  not  go  alone.  If  this  man 
be  an  impostor,  you  may  be  too  much  agitated  by  your 
feelings  to  detect  his  villany.  If,  which  I  cannot  believe, 
there  be  any  truth  in  what  he  pretends,  you  shall  not  be 
exposed  alone  to  a  communication  of  so  extraordinary  a 
nature.  I  will  go  with  you,  if  indeed  you  determine  to 
go.  But  yet  reconsider  your  project,  and  renounce  en- 
quiries which  cannot  be  prosecuted  without  guilt,  and 
perhaps  without  danger." 

Lady  Forester  threw  herself  into  her  sister's  arms, 
and,  clasping  her  to  her  bosom,  thanked  her  a  hundred 
times  for  the  offer  of  her  company  ;  while  she  declined 
with  a  melancholy  gesture  the  friendly  advice  with  which 
it  was  accompanied. 

When  the  hour  of  twilight  arrived, — which  was  the 
period  when  the  Paduan  Doctor  was  understood  to  re- 
ceive the  visits  of  those  who  came  to  consult  with  him, — • 
the  two  ladies  left  their  apartments  in  the  Canongate  of 


Mir  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  219 

Edinburgh,  having  their  dress  arranged  like  that  of  women 
of  an  inferior  description,  and  their  plaids  disposed  around 
rheir  faces  as  they  were  worn  by  the  same  class ;  for,  in 
those  days  of  aristocracy,  the  quality  of  the  wearer  was 
generally  indicated  by  the  manner  in  which  her  plaid 
was  disposed,  as  well  as  by  the  fineness  of  its  texture. 
It  was  Lady  Bothwell  who  had  suggested  this  species  of 
disguise,  partly  to  avoid  observation  as  they  should  go  to 
the  conjurer's  house,  and  partly  in  order  to  make  trial  of 
his  penetration,  by  appearing  before  him  in  a  feigned 
character.  Lady  Forester's  servant,  of  tried  fidelity, 
had  been  employed  by  her  to  propitiate  the  Doctor 
by  a  suitable  fee,  and  a  story  intimating  that  a  sol- 
dier's wife  desired  to  know  the  fate  of  her  husband  :  a 
subject  upon  which,  in  all  probability,  the  sage  was  very 
frequently  consulted. 

To  the  last  moment,  when  the  palace  clock  struck 
eight,  Lady  Bothwell  earnestly  watched  her  sister,  in 
hopes  that  she  might  retreat  from  her  rash  undertaking  ; 
but  as  mildness,  and  even  timidity,  is  capable  at  times  of 
vehement  and  fixed  purposes,  she  found  Lady  Forester 
resolutely  unmoved  and  determined  when  the  moment 
of  departure  arrived.  Ill  satisfied  with  the  expedition, 
but  determined  not  to  leave  her  sister  at  such  a  crisis, 
Lady  Bothwell  accompanied  Lady  Forester  through 
more  than  one  obscure  street  and  lane,  the  servant  walk- 
ing before,  and  acting  as  their  guide.  At  length  he  sud- 
denly turned  into  a  narrow  court,  and  knocked  at  an 
arched  door,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  a  building  of 
some  antiquity.  It  opened,  though  no  one  appeared  to 
act  as  porter  ;  and  the  servant  stepping  aside  from  the 
entrance,  motioned  the  ladies  to  enter.  They  had  no 
sooner  done  so,  than  it  shut,  and  excluded  their  guide. 
The  two  ladies  found  themselves  in  a  small  vestibule, 
illuminated  by  a  dim  lamp,  and  having,  when  the  door 
was  closed,  no  communication  with  the  external  light  or 
air.  The  door  of  an  inner  apartment,  partly  open,  was 
tf.  the  further  side  of  the  vestibule. 

"  We   must   not   hesitate  now,   Jemima,"   said    Lady 


220  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

Botbwell,  and  walked  fonvards  into  the  inner  room,  where, 
surrounded  by  books,  maps,  philosophical  utensils,  and 
other  implements  of  peculiar  shape  and  appearance,  they 
"ound  the  man  of  art. 

There  was  nothing  very  peculiar  in  the  Italian's  ap- 
pearance. He  had  the  dark  complexion  and  marked 
features  of  his  country,  seemed  about  fifty  years  old,  and 
was  handsomely,  but  plainly,  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of 
black  clothes,  which  was  then  the  universal  costume  of 
the  medical  profession.  Large  wax-lights,  in  silver 
sconces,  illuminated  the  apartment,  which  was  reasonably 
furnished.  He  rose  as  the  ladies  entered  ;  and,  notwith- 
standing the  inferiority  of  their  dress,  received  them  with 
the  marked  respect  due  to  their  quality,  and  which  for- 
eigners are  usually  punctilious  in  rendering  *o  those  to 
whom  such  honours  are  due. 

Lady  Bothwell  endeavoured  to  maintain  her  proposed 
incognito  ;  and,  as  the  Doctor  ushered  them  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  room,  made  a  motion  declining  his  courtesy, 
as  unfitted  for  their  condition.  "  We  are  poor  people, 
sir,"  she  said  ;  "  only  my  sister's  distress  has  brought  us 
to  consult  your  worship  whether" 

He  smiled  as  he  interrupted  her — "I  am  aware,  madam, 
of  your  sister's  distress,  and  its  cause  ;  I  am  aware,  also, 
that  I  am  honoured  with  a  visit  from  two  ladies  of  the 
highest  consideration — Lady  Bothwell  and  Lady  For- 
ester. If  I  could  not  distinguish  them  from  the  class  of 
society  which  their  present  dress  would  indicate,  there 
would  be  small  possibility  of  my  being  able  to  gratify 
them  by  giving  the  information  which  they  came  to 
seek." 

"  I  can  easily  understand,'"  said  Lady  Bothwell 

"  Pardon  my  boldness  to  interrupt  you,  milady,"  cried 
the  Italian  ;  "  your  ladyship  was  about  to  say,  that  you 
could  easily  understand  that  I  had  got  possession  of  your 
names  by  means  of  your  domestic.  But  in  thinking  so, 
you  do  in }\  slice  to  the  fidelity  of  your  servant,  and,  1 
may  add,  to  the  skill  of  one  who  is  also  not  less  yo«Ji 
hi  mble  sen  ant — Baptista  Damiotti." 


MY    AUNT    MARGARET  S    MIRROR.  XXl 

"  I   have   no  intention   to   do   either,  sir,"  said  Lady 
Bothwell,  maintaining  a  tone  of  composure,  though  some 
what  surprised,  "  but  the  situation  is  something  new  to 
me.     If  you  know  who  we  are,  you  also  know  sir,  what 
brought  us  here." 

"  Curiosity  to  know  the  fate  of  a  Scottish  gentleman 
of  rank,  now,  or  lately,  upon  the  continent,"  answered 
the  seer  ;  "  his  name  is  II  Cavaliero  Philippe  Forester  ; 
a  gentleman  who  has  the  honour  to  be  husband  to  this 
lady,  and,  with  your  ladyship's  permission  for  using  plain 
language,  the  misfortune  not  to  value  as  it  deserves  that 
inestimable  advantage." 

Lady  Forester  sighed  deeply,  and  Lady  Bothwell  re- 
plied— 

"  Since  you  know  our  object  without  our  telling  it,  the 
only  question  that  remains  is,  whether  you  have  the  power 
to  relieve  my  sister's  anxiety  ?" 

"I  have,  madam,"  answered  the  Paduan  scholar; 
"  but  there  is  still  a  previous  inquiry.  Have  you  the 
courage  to  behold  with  your  own  eyes  what  the  Cavaliero 
Fhilippo  Forester  is  now  doing  ?  or  will  you  take  it  on 
my  report  ?" 

"  That  question  my  sister  must  answer  for  herself," 
said  Lady  Bothwell. 

"  With  my  own  eyes  will  I  endure  to  see  whatever 
you  have  power  to  show  me,"  said  Lady  Forester,  with 
the  same  determined  spirit  which  had  stimulated  her  since 
her  resolution  was  taken  upon  this  subject. 

"  There  may  be  danger  in  it." 

"  If  gold  can  compensate  the  risk,"  said  Lady  Forest- 
er, taking  out  her  purse. 

"  I  do  not  such  things  for  the  purpose  of  gain,"  an- 
swered the  foreigner.  "  I  dare  not  turn  my  art  to  such 
a  purpose.  If  I  take  the  gold  of  the  wealthy,  it  is  but 
to  bestow  it  on  the  poor  ;  nor  do  I  ever  accept  more 
than  the  sum  I  have  already  received  from  your  se/vant. 
Put  up  your  purse,  madarn  ;  an  adept  needs  not  youi 
gold.' 

VOL.  II. 


222  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

Lady  Bothwell,  considering  this  rejection  of  her  sister's 
offer  as  a  mere  trick  of  an  empiric,  to  induce  her  to 
press  a  larger  sum  upon  him,  and  willing  that  the  scene 
should  be  commenced  and  ended,  offered  some  gold  in 
turn,  observing  that  it  was  only  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of 
his  charity. 

"  Let  Lady  Bothwell  enlarge  the  sphere  of  her  own 
charity,"  said  the  Paduan,  "  not  merely  in  giving  of 
alms,  in  which  I  know  she  is  not  deficient,  but  in  judging 
the  character  of  others  ;  and  let  her  oblige  Baptista  Da- 
miotti  by  believing  him  honest,  till  she  shall  discover 
him  to  be  a  knave.  Do  not  be  surprised,  madam,  if  1 
speak  in  answer  to  your  thoughts,  rather  than  your  ex- 
pressions, and  tell  me  once  more  whether  you  have  cour- 
age to  look  on  what  I  am  prepared  to  show  ?" 

"  I  own,  sir,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  that  your  words 
strike  me  with  some  sense  of  fear  ;  but  whatever  my 
sister  desires  to  witness,  I  will  not  shrink  from  witnessing 
along  with  her." 

"  Nay,  the  danger  only  consists  in  the  risk  of  your 
resolution  failing  you.  The  sight  can  only  last  for  the 
space  of  seven  minutes  ;  and  should  you  interrupt  the 
vision  by  speaking  a  single  word,  not  only  would  the 
charm  be  broken,  but  some  danger  might  result  to  the 
spectators.  But  if  you  can  remain  steadily  silent  for  the 
seven  minutes,  your  curiosity  will  be  gratified  without 
the  slightest  risk ;  and  for  this  I  will  engage  my  honour." 

Internally  Lady  Bothwell  thought  the  security  was  but 
an  indifferent  one  ;  but  she  suppressed  the  suspicion,  as 
if  she  had  believed  that  the  adept,  whose  dark  features 
wore  a  half-formed  smile,  could  in  reality  read  even  her 
most  secret  reflections.  A  solemn  pause  then  ensued, 
until  Lady  Forester  gathered  courage  enough  to  reply  to 
the  physician,  as  he  termed  himself,  that  she  would  abide 
with  firmness  and  silence  the  sight  which  he  had  promis- 
ed to  exhibit  to  them.  Upon  this,  he  made  them  a  low 
obeisance,  and  saying  he  went  to  prepare  matters  to  meet 
their  wish  left  the  apartment.  The  two  sisters,  hand  in 
nand,  as  i  seeking  by  that  close  union  to  divert  any 


MT  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  223 

danger  which  might  threaten  them,  sat  down  on  two  seats 
in  immediate  contact  with  each  other  :  Jemima  seeking 
support  in  the  manly  and  habitual  courage  of  Lady  Both- 
well ;  and  she,  on  the  i  ther  hand,  more  agitated  than 
she  had  expected,  endeavouring  to  fortify  herself  by  the 
desperate  resolution  which  circumstances  had  forced  her 
sister  to  assume.  The  one  perhaps  said  to  herself,  that 
her  sister  never. feared  anything  ;  and  the  other  might  re- 
flect, that  what  so  feeble  a  minded  woman  as  Jemima 
did  not  fear,  could  not  properly  be  a  subject  of  appre- 
hension to  a  person  of  firmness  and  resolution  like  her 
own. 

In  a  few  moments  the  thoughts  of  both  were  diverted 
from  their  own  situation,  by  a  strain  of  music  so  singu- 
larly sweet  and  solemn,  that,  while  it  seemed  calculated 
to  avert  or  dispel  any  feeling  unconnected  with  its  harmo- 
ny, increased,  at  the  same  time,  the  solemn  excitation 
which  the  preceding  interview  was  calculated  to  produce. 
The  music  was  that  of  some  instrument  with  which  they 
were  unacquainted  ;  but  circumstances  afterwards  led  my 
ancestress  to  believe  that  it  was  that  of  the  harmonica, 
which  she  heard  at  a  much  later  period  in  life. 

When  these  heaven-born  sounds  had  ceased,  a  door 
opened  in  the  upper  end  of  the  apartment,  and  they  saw 
Damiotti,  standing  at  the  head  of  two  or  three  steps,  sign 
to  them  to  advance.  His  dress  was  so  different  from 
that  which  he  had  worn  a  few  minutes  before,  that  they 
could  hardly  recognise  him  ;  and  the  deadly  paleness  of 
his  countenance,  and  a  certain  stern  rigidity  of  muscles, 
like  that  of  one  whose  mind  is  made  up  to  some  strange 
and  daring  action,  had  totally  changed  the  somewhat  .sar- 
castic expression  with  which  he  had  previously  regarded 
them  both,  and  particularly  Lady  Bothwell.  He  was 
barefooted,  excepting  a  species  of  sandals  in  the  antique 
fashion  ;  his  legs  were  naked  beneath  the  knees  ;  above 
them  he  wore  hose,  and  a  doublet  of  dark  crimson  silk 
close  to  his  body ;  and  over  that  a  flowing  loose  robe, 
something  resembling  a  surplice,  of  snow-white  linen; 


224  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

his  throat  and  neck  were  uncovered,  and  his  long,  straight, 
black  hair,  was  carefully  combed  down  at  full  length. 

As  the  ladies  approached  at  his  bidding,  he  showed  no 
gesture  of  that  ceremonious  courtesy  of  which  he  had 
been  formerly  lavish.  On  the  contrary,  he  made  the 
signal  of  advance  with  an  air  of  command ;  and  when, 
arm  in  arm,  and  with  insecure  steps,  the  sisters  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  he  stood,  it  was  with  a  warning 
frown  that  he  pressed  his  finger  to  his  lips,  as  if  reiterat- 
ing his  condition  of  absolute  silence,  while,  stalking  be- 
fore them,  he  led  the  way  into  the  next  apartment. 

This  was  a  large  room,  hung  with  black,  as  if  for  a 
funeral.  At  the  upper  end  was  a  table,  or  rather  a  spe- 
cies of  altar,  covered  with  the  same  lugubrious  colour, 
on  which  lay  divers  objects  resembling  the  usual  imple- 
ments of  sorcery.  These  objects  were  not  indeed  visi- 
ble as  they  advanced  into  the  apartment ;  for  the  light 
which  displayed  them,  being  only  that  of  two  expiring 
lamps,  was  extremely  faint.  The  master — to  use  the 
Italian  phrase  for  persons  of  this  description — approach- 
ed the  upper  end  of  the  room,  with  a  genuflexion  like 
that  of  a  Catholic  to  the  crucifix,  and  at  the  same  time 
crossed  himself.  The  ladies  followed  in  silence,  and  arm 
in  arm.  Two  or  three  low  broad  steps  led  to  a  platform 
in  front  of  the  altar,  or  what  resembled  such.  Here  the 
sage  took  his  stand,  and  placed  the  ladies  beside  him, 
once  more  earnestly  repeating  by  signs  his  injunctions  of 
silence.  The  Italian  then,  extending  his  bare  arm  from 
under  his  linen  vestment,  pointed  with  his  forefinger  to 
five  large  flambeaux,  or  torches,  placed  on  each  side  of 
the  altar.  They  took  fire  successively  at  the  approach 
of  his  hand,  or  rather  of  his  finger,  and  spread  a  strong 
light  through  the  room.  By  this  the  visiters  could  dis- 
cern that,  on  the  seeming  altar,  were  disposed  two  naked 
swords  laid  crosswise  ;  a  large  open  book,  which  they 
conceived  to  be  a  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  but  in  a 
language  to  them  unknown  ;  and  beside  this  mysterious 
volume  was  placed  a  human  skull.  But  what  struck  the 
sisters  most  was  a  very  tall  and  broad  mirror,  which  occu- 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRHOR.  225 

pied  all  the  space  behind  the  altar,  and,  illumined  by  the 
lighted  torches,  reflected  the  mysterious  articles  which 
were  laid  upon  it. 

The  master  then  placed  himself  between  the  two  la- 
dies, and,  pointing  to  the  mirror,  took  each  by  the  hand, 
but  without  speaking  a  syllable.  They  gazed  intently 
on  the  polished  and  sable  space  to  which  he  had  directed 
their  attention.  Suddenly  the  surface  assumed  a  new 
and  singular  appearance.  It  no  longer  simply  reflected 
the  objects  placed  before  it,  but,  as  if  it  had  self-contained 
scenery  of  its  own,  objects  began  to  appear  within  it,  at 
first  in  a  disorderly,  indistinct,  and  miscellaneous  manner, 
like  form  arranging  itself  out  of  chaos  ;  at  length,  in  dis- 
tinct and  defined  shape  and  symmetry.  It  was  thus  that, 
after  some  shifting  of  light  and  darkness  over  the  face  of 
the  wonderful  glass,  a  long  perspective  of  arches  and 
columns  began  to  arrange  itself  on  its  sides,  and  a  vault- 
ed roof  on  the  upper  part  of  it ;  till,  after  many  oscilla- 
tions, the  whole  vision  gained  a  fixed  and  stationary 
appearance,  representing  the  interior  of  a  foreign  church. 
The  pillars  were  stately,  and  hung  with  scutcheons  ;  the 
arches  were  lofty  and  magnificent ;  the  floor  was  lettered 
with  funeral  inscriptions.  But  there  were  no  separate 
shrines,  no  images,  no  display  of  chalice  or  crucifix  on 
the  altar.  It  was,  therefore,  a  Protestant  church  upon 
the  continent.  A  clergyman  dressed  in  the  Geneva  gown 
and  band  stood  by  the  communion-table,  and,  with  the 
Bible  opened  before  him,  and  his  clerk  awaiting  in  the 
back-ground,  seemed  prepared  to  perform  some  service 
of  the  church  to  which  he  belonged. 

At  length,  there  entered  the  middle  aisle  of  the  build- 
ing a  numerous  party,  which  appeared  to  be  a  bridal  one, 
as  a  lady  and  gentleman  walked  first,  hand  in  hand,  fol- 
lowed by  a  large  concourse  of  persons  of  both  sexes, 
gaily,  nay  richly,  attired.  The  bride,  whose  features 
they  could  distinctly  see,  seemed  not  more  than  sixteen 
years  old,  and  extremely  beautiful.  The  bridegroom 
for  some  seconds,  moved  rather  with  his  shoulder  towards 
ihem,  and  his  free  averted  ;  but  his  elegance  of  form 


226  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

and  step  struck  the  sisters  at  once  with  the  same  appre« 
hension.  As  he  turned  his  (ace  suddenly,  it  was  fright- 
fully realized,  and  they  saw,  in  the  gay  bridegroom  before 
them,  Sir  Philip  Forester.  His  wife  uttered  an  im- 
perfect exclamation,  at  the  sound  of  which  the  whole 
scene  stirred  and  seemed  to  separate. 

"  I  could  compare  it  to  nothing,"  said  Lady  Bothwell, 
while  recounting  the  wonderful  tale,  "  but  to  the  disper- 
sion of  the  reflection  offered  by  a  deep  and  calm  pool, 
when  a  stone  is  suddenly  cast  into  it,  and  the  shadows 
become  dissipated  and  broken."  The  master  pressed 
both  the  ladies'  hands  severely,  as  if  to  remind  them  of 
their  promise,  and  of  the  danger  which  they  incurred. 
The  exclamation  died  away  on  Lady  Forester's  tongue 
without  attaining  perfect  utterance,  and  the  scene  in  the 
glass,  after  the  fluctuation  of  a  minute,  again  resumed  to 
the  eye  its  former  appearance  of  a  real  scene,  existing 
within  the  mirror,  as  if  represented  in  a  picture,  save 
that  the  figures  were  movable  instead  of  being  stationary. 

The  representation  of  Sir  Philip  Forester,  now  dis- 
tinctly visible  in  form  and  feature,  was  seen  to  lead  on 
towards  the  clergyman  that  beautiful  girl,  who  advanced 
at  once  with  diffidence,  and  with  a  species  of  affectionate 
pride.  In  the  meantime,  and  just  as  the  clergyman  had 
arranged  the  bridal  company  before  him,  and  seemed 
about  to  commence  the  service,  another  group  of  per- 
sons, of  whom  two  or  three  were  officers,  entered  the 
church.  They  moved,  at  first,  forward,  as  though  they 
came  to  witness  the  bridal  ceremony,  but  suddenly  one 
of  the  officers,  whose  back  was  towards  the  spectators, 
detached  himself  from  his  companions,  and  rushed  hastily 
towards  the  marriage  party,  when  the  whole  of  them 
turned  towards  him,  as  if  attracted  by  some  exclamation 
which  had  accompanied  his  advance.  Suddenly  the  in- 
truder drew  his  sword  ;  the  bridegroom  unsheathed  his 
own,  and  made  towards  him  ;  swords  were  also  drawn  by 
other  individuals,  both  of  the  marriage  party,  and  of  those 
who  had  last  entered.  They  fell  into  a  sort  of  confusion, 
the  clergyman,  and  some  elder  and  graver  persons,  la 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  227 

bouring  apparently  to  keep  the  peace,  while  the  hottei 
spirits  on  both  sides  brandished  their  weapons.  But 
now,  the  period  of  the  brief  space  during  which  the 
soothsayer,  as  he  pretended,  was  permitted  to  exhibit  his 
art,  was  arrived.  The  fumes  again  mixed  together,  and 
dissolved  gradually  from  observation  ;  the  vaults  and  col- 
umns of  the  church  rolled  asunder,  and  disappeared  ;  and 
the  front  of  the  mirror  reflected  nothing  save  the  blazing 
torches,  and  the  melancholy  apparatus  placed  on  the  altar 
or  table  before  it. 

The  doctor  led  the  ladies,  who  greatly  required  his 
support,  into  the  apartment  from  whence  they  came ; 
where  wine,  essences,  and  other  means  of  restoring  sus- 
pended animation,  had  been  provided  during  his  absence 
He  motioned  them  to  chairs,  which  they  occupied  in 
silence  ;  Lady  Forester,  in  particular,  wringing  her 
hands,  and  casting  her  eyes  up  to  heaven,  but  without 
speaking  a  word,  as  if  the  spell  had  been  still  before  her 
eyes. 

"  And  what  we  have  seen  is  even  now  acting?"  said 
Lady  Bothwell,  collecting  herself  with  difficulty. 

"  That,"  answered  Baptista  Damiotti,  "  I  cannot  justly, 
or  with  certainty,  say.  But  it  is  either  now  acting,  or 
has  been  acted,  during  a  short  space  before  this.  It  is 
the  last  remarkable  transaction  in  which  the  Cavalier 
Forester  has  been  engaged." 

Lady  Bothwell  then  expressed  anxiety  concerning  her 
sister,  whose  altered  countenance,  and  apparent  uncon- 
sciousness of  what  passed  around  her,  excited  her  appre- 
hensions how  it  might  be  possible  to  convey  her  home. 

"  I  have  prepared  for  that,"  answered  the  adept ;  "  1 
have  directed  the  servant  to  bring  your  equipage  as  near 
to  this  place  as  the  narrowness  of  the  street  will  permit. 
Fear  not  for  your  sister ;  but  give  her,  when  you  return 
home,  this  composing  draught,  and  she  will  be  better  to- 
morrow morning.  Few,"  he  added,  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  leave  this  house  as  well  in  health  as  they  entered 
it.  Such  being  the  consequence  of  seeking  knowledge 
by  mysterious  means,  I  leave  you  to  judge  the  condition 


228  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

of  those  who  have  the  power  of  gratifying  such  irregular 
curiosity.  Farewell,  and  forget  not  the  potion." 

"  I  will  give  her  nothing  that  comes  from  you,"  said 
Lady  Both  well  ;  "  I  have  seen  enough  of  your  art  al- 
ready. Perhaps  you  would  poison  us  both  to  conceal 
your  own  necromancy.  But  we  are  persons  who  want 
neither  the  means  of  making  our  wrongs  known,  nor  the 
assistance  of  friends  to  £ght  them." 

"  You  have  had  no  wrongs  from  me,  madam,"  said 
the  adept.  "  You  sought  one  who  is  little  grateful  for 
such  honour.  He  seeks  no  one,  and  only  gives  responses 
to  those  who  invite  and  call  upon  him.  After  all,  you 
have  but  learned  a  little  sooner  the  evil  which  you  must 
still  be  doomed  to  endure.  I  hear  your  servant's  step  at 
the  door,  and  will  detain  your  ladyship  and  Lady  For- 
ester no  longer.  The  next  packet  from  the  continent 
will  explain  what  you  have  already  partly  witnessed. 
Let  it  not,  if  I  may  advise,  pass  too  suddenly  into  your 
sister's  hands." 

So  saying,  he  bid  Lady  Bothwell  good-night.  She 
went,  lighted  by  the  adept,  to  the  vestibule,  where  he 
hastily  threw  a  black  cloak  over  his  singular  dress,  and 
opening  the  door,  intrusted  his  visitors  to  the  care  of  the 
servant.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Lady  Bothwell  sus- 
tained her  sister  to  the  carriage,  though  it  was  only 
twenty  steps  distant.  When  they  arrived  at  home,  Lady 
Forester  required  medical  assistance.  The  physician  of 
the  family  attended,  and  shook  his  head  on  feeling  her 
pulse. 

"  Here  has  been,"  he  said,  "  a  violent  and  sudden 
shock  on  the  nerves.  I  must  know  how  it  has  happened." 

Lady  Bothwell  admitted  they  had  visited  the  con- 
jurer, and  that  Lady  Forester  had  received  some  bad 
news  respecting  her  husband,  Sir  Philip. 

"  That  rascally  quack  would  make  my  fortune  were 
he  to  stay  in  Edinburgh,"  said  the  graduate  ;  "  this  is 
the  seventh  nervous  case  I  have  heard  of  his  making  for 
rue,  and  all  by  effect  of  terror."  He  next  examined  the 
composing  draught  which  Lady  Bothwell  had  uncon- 


MY    AUNT    MARGARET  S    MIRROR.  229 

sciously  brought  in  her  hand,  tasted  it,  and  pronounced  it 
very  germain  to  the  matter,  and  what  would  save  an  ap- 
plication to  the  apothecary.  He  then  paused,  and  looking 
at  Lady  Bothwell  very  significantly,  at  length  added,  "  I 
suppose  I  must  not  ask  your  ladyship  any  thing  about 
this  Italian  warlock's  proceedings  ?" 

"  Indeed,  Doctor,"  answered  Lady  Bothwell,  "  1  con- 
sider what  passed  as  confidential ;  and  though  the  man 
may  be  a  rogue,  yet,  as  we  were  fools  enough  to  consult 
him,  we  should,  I  think,  be  honest  enough  to  keep  his 
counsel." 

"  May  be  a  knave — come,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  am 
glad  to  hear  your  ladyship  allows  such  a  possibility  in 
anything  that  comes  from  Italy." 

"  What  comes  from  Italy  may  be  as  good  as  what 
comes  from  Hanover,  Doctor.  But  you  and  I  will  remain 
good  friends,  and  that  it  may  be  so,  we  will  say  nothing 
of  Whig  and  Tory." 

"  Not  I,  said  the  Doctor,  receiving  his  fee,  and  taking 
his  hat ;  "  a  Carolus  serves  my  purpose  as  well  as  a 
Willielmus.  But  1  should  like  to  know  why  old  Lady 
Saint  Ringan's,  and  all  that  set,  go  about  wasting  their 
decayed  lungs  in  puffing  this  foreign  fellow." 

"  Ay — you  had  best  set  him  down  a  Jesuit,  as  Scrub 
says."  On  these  terms  they  parted. 

The  poor  patient — whose  nerves,  from  an  extraordi- 
nary state  of  tension,  had  at  length  become  relaxed  in  as 
extraordinary  a  degree — continued  to  struggle  with  a  sort 
of  imbecility,  the  growth  of  superstitious  terror,  when 
the  shocking  tidings  were  brought  from  Holland,  which 
fulfilled  even  her  worst  expectations. 

They  were  sent  by  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Stair,  and 
contained  the  melancholy  event  of  a  duel  betwixt  Sir 
Philip  Forester,  and  his  wife's  half-brother,  Captain  Fal- 
coner, of  the  Scotch-Dutch,  as  they  were  then  called,  in 
which  the  latter  had  been  killed.  The  cause  of  quarrel 
rendered  the  incident  still  more  shocking.  It  seemed 
that  Sir  Philip  had  left  the  army  suddenly,  in  consequence 
552 


MY  AUNT  MARGARETS  MIRROR. 

of  being  unable  to  pay  a  very  considerable  sum,  which  he 
had  lost  to  another  volunteer  at  play.  He  had  changed  his 
name,  and  taken  up  his  residence  at  Rotterdam,  where  he 
had  insinuated  himself  into  the  good  graces  of  an  ancient 
and  rich  burgomaster,  and,  by  his  handsome  person  and 
graceful  manners,  captivated  the  affections  of  his  only 
child,  a  very  young  person,  of  great  beauty,  and  the 
heiress  of  much  wealth.  Delighted  with  the  specious 
attractions  of  his  proposed  son-in-law,  the  wealthy  mer- 
chant— whose  idea  of  the  British  character  was  too  high 
to  admit  of  his  taking  any  precaution  to  acquire  evidence 
of  his  condition  and  circumstances — gave  his  consent  to 
the  marriage.  It  was  about  to  be  celebrated  in  the  prin- 
cipal church  of  the  city,  when  it  was  interrupted  by  a 
singular  occurrence. 

Captain  Falconer  having  been  detached  to  Rotterdam 
to  bring  up  a  part  of  the  brigade  of  Scottish  auxiliaries, 
who  were  in  quarters  there,  a  person  of  consideration  m 
the  town,  to  wrhom  he  had  been  formerly  known,  pro- 
posed to  him  for  amusement  to  go  to  the  high  church,  to 
see  a  countryman  of  his  own  married  to  the  daughter  of 
a  wealthy  burgomaster.  Captain  Falconer  went  accord- 
ingly, accompanied  by  his  Dutch  acquaintance,  with  a 
party  of  his  friends,  and  two  or  three  ofiicers  of  the  Scotch 
brigade.  His  astonishment  may  be  conceived  when  he 
saw  his  own  brother-in-law,  a  married  man,  on  the  point 
of  leading  to  the  altar  the  innocent  and  beautiful  crea- 
ture, upon  whom  he  was  about  to  practise  a  base  and  un- 
manly deceit.  He  proclaimed  his  villany  on  the  spot, 
and  the  marriage  was  interrupted  of  course.  But  against 
the  opinion  of  more  thinking  men,  who  considered  Sir 
Philip  Forester  as  having  thrown  himself  out  of  the  rank 
of  men  of  honour,  Captain  Falconer  admitted  him  to  the 
privilege  of  such,  accepted  a  challenge  from  him,  and  in 
the  rencounter  received  a  mortal  wound.  Such  are  the 
ways  of  Heaven,  mysterious  in  our  eyes.  Lady  Forester 
never  recovered  the  shock  of  this  dismal  intelligence 


MY  AUNT  MARGARETS  MIRROR.  31 

"  And  did  this  tragedy,"  said  I,  "  take  place  ex 
actly  at  the  time  when  the  scene  in  the  mirror  was  ex- 
hibited ?" 

"  It  is  hard  to  be  obliged  to  maim  one's  story,"  an- 
swered my  aunt ;  "  but  to  speak  the  truth,  it  happened 
some  days  sooner  than  the  apparition  was  exhibited." 

"  And  so  there  remained  a  possibility,"  said  I,  "  that 
by  some  secret  and  speedy  communication  the  artist 
might  have  received  early  intelligence  of  that  incident." 

"  The  incredulous  pretended  so,"  replied  my  aunt. 

"  What  became  of  the  adept  ?"  demanded  I. 

"  Why,  a  warrant  came  down  shortly  afterwards  to  ar- 
rest him  for  high-treason,  as  an  agent  of  the  Chevalier 
St.  George  ;  and  Lady  Bothwell,  recollecting  the  hints 
which  had  escaped  the  Doctor,  an  ardent  friend  to  the 
Protestant  succession,  did  then  call  to  remembrance,  that 
this  man  was  chiefly  prone  among  the  ancient  matrons  of 
her  own  political  persuasion.  It  certainly  seemed  proba- 
ble that  intelligence  from  the  continent,  which  could 
easily  have  been  transmitted  by  an  active  and  powerful 
agent,  might  have  enabled  him  to  prepare  such  a  scene 
of  phantasmagoria  as  she  had  herself  witnessed.  Yet 
there  were  so  many  difficulties  in  assigning  a  natural  ex- 
planation, that,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  she  remained  in 
great  doubt  on  the  subject,  and  much  disposed  to  cut  the 
Gordian  knot,  by  admitting  the  existence  of  supernatural 
agency." 

"  But,  my  dear  aunt,"  said  I,  "  what  became  of  the 
man  of  skill  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  too  good  a  fortune-teller  not  to  be  able 
to  foresee  that  his  own  destiny  would  be  tragical  if  he 
waited  the  arrival  of  the  man  with  the  silver  greyhound 
upon  his  sleeve.  He  made,  as  we  say,  a  moonlight  flit- 
ting, and  was  nowhere  to  been  seen  or  heard  of.  Some 
noise  there  was  about  papers  or  letters  found  in  the  house, 
but  it  died  away,  and  Doctor  Baptista  DamioUi  was  soon 
as  little  talked  of  as  Galen  or  Hippocrates." 

"  And  Sir  Philip  Forester,"  said  I,  "  did  he  too  van- 
ish for  ever  f-om  the  public  scene  ?" 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR, 

"  No,"  replied  my  kind  informer.  "  He  \vix  heard 
of  once  more,  and  it  was  upon  a  remarkable  occasion.  It 
is  said  that  we  Scots,  when  there  was  such  a  nation  in 
existence,  have,  among  our  full  peck  of  virtues,  one  01 
two  little  barleycorns  of  vice.  In  particular,  it  is  alleged 
that  we  rarely  forgive,  and  never  forget,  any  injuries  re- 
ceived ;  that  we  used  to  make  an  idol  of  our  resentment, 
as  poor  Lady  Constance  did  of  her  grief;  and  are  ad- 
dicted, as  Burns  says,  to  '  Nursing  our  wrath  to  keep  it 
warm.'  Lady  Botbwell  was  not  without  this  feeling  ; 
and,  I  believe,  nothing  whatever,  scarce  the  restoration 
of  the  Stewart  line,  could  have  happened  so  delicious  to 
her  feelings  as  an  opportunity  of  being  revenged  on  Sir 
Philip  Forester  for  the  deep  and  double  injury  which  had 
deprived  her  of  a  sister  and  of  a  brother.  But  nothing 
of  him  was  heard  or  known  till  many  a  year  had  passed 
away." 

At  length — it  was  on  a  Fastern's  E'en  (Shrovetide) 
assembly,  at  which  the  whole  fashion  of  Edinburgh  at- 
tended, full  and  frequent,  and  when  Lady  Bothwell  had 
a  seat  amongst  the  lady  patronesses,  that  one  of  the  at- 
tendants on  the  company  whispered  into  her  ear,  that  a 
gentleman  wished  to  speak  with  her  in  private. 

"  In  private  ?  and  in  an  assembly  room  ? — he  must  be 
mad — tell  him  to  call  upon  me  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  said  so,  my  lady,"  answered  the  man,  "  but  he  de- 
sired me  to  give  you  this  paper." 

She  undid  the  billet,  which  was  curiously  folded  and 
sealed.  It  only  bore  the  words,  "  On  business  of  life 
and  death"  written  in  a  hand  which  she  had  never  seen 
before.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  con- 
cern the  safety  of  some  of  her  political  friends  ;  she  there- 
fore followed  the  messenger  to  a  small  apartment  where 
the  refreshments  were  prepared,  and  from  which  the 
general  company  was  excluded.  She  found  an  old  man, 
who  at  her  approach  rose  up  and  bowed  profoundly.  His 
appearance  indicated  a  broken  constitution,  and  his  dress, 
though  sedulously  rendered  conforming  to  the  etiquette 
of  a  ball-room,  was  won?  and  tanrshed,  and  hung  in  fold" 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

about  his  emaciated  person.  Lady  Bothwell  was  about 
to  feel  for  her  purse,  expecting  to  get  rid  of  the  suppli- 
cant at  the  expense  of, a  little  money,  but  some  fear  of  a 
mistake  arrested  her  purpose.  She  therefore  gave  the 
man  leisure  to  explain  himself. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  speak  with  the  Lady  Both- 
well  ?" 

"  I  am  Lady  Bothwell  ;  allow  me  to  say  that  this  is 
no  time  or  place  for  long  explanations. — What  are  youi 
commands  with  me  ?" 

"  Your  ladyship,"  said  the  old  man,  "  had  opre  a 
sister." 

"  True  ;  whom  I  loved  as  my  own  soul." 

"  And  a  brother." 

"  The  bravest,  the  kindest,  the  most  affectionate,"  said 
Lady  Bothwell. 

"  Both  these  beloved  relatives  you  lost  by  the  fault  of 
an  unfortunate  man,"  continued  the  stranger. 

"  By  the  crime  of  an  unnatural,  bloody-minded  mur- 
derer," said  the  lady. 

"  I  am  answered,"  replied  the  old  man,  bowing,  as  if 
to  withdraw. 

"  Stop,  sir,  I  command  you,"  said  Lady  Bothwell. — 
"  Who  are  you,  that,  at  such  a  place  and  time,  come 
to  recall  these  horrible  recollections  ?  I  insist  upon 
knowing." 

"  I  am  one  who  means  Lady  Bothwell  no  injury  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  to  offer  her  the  means  of  doing  a  deed 
of  Christian  charity,  which  the  world  would  wonder  at, 
and  which  Heaven  would  reward  ;  but  I  find  her  in  no 
temper  for  such  a  sacrifice  as  I  was  prepared  to  ask." 

"  Speak  out,  sir  j  what  is  your  meaning  ?"  said  Lady 
Bothwell. 

"  The  wretch  that  has  wronged  you  so  deeply,"  re- 
joined the  stranger,  "  is  now  on  his  death-bed.  His  days 
have  been  days  of  misery,  his  nights  have  been  sleepless 
hours  of  anguish — yet  he  cannot  die  without  your  for- 
giveness. His  life  has  been  an  unremitting  penance — yet 

VOL.    II. 


234  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

he  dares  not  part  from  his  burden  while  your  curses  load 
his  soul." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Lady  Bothwell  sternly,  "  to  ask 
pardon  of  that  Being  whom  he  has  so  greatly  offended  ; 
not  of  an  erring  mortal  like  himself.  What  could  rny 
forgiveness  avail  him  ?" 

"  Much,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  It  will  be  an  ear- 
nest of  that  which  he  may  then  venture  to  ask  from  hi? 
Creator,  lady,  and  from  yours.  Remember,  Lady  Both- 
well,  you  too  have  a  death-bed  to  look  forward  to  ;  your 
soul  may,  all  human  souls  must,  feel  the  awe  of  facing 
the  judgment-seat,  with  the  wounds  of  an  untented  con- 
science, raw,  and  rankling — what  thought  would  it  be 
then  that  should  whisper,  '  I  have  given  no  mercy,  how 
then  shall  1  ask  it  ?'  " 

"  Man,  whosoever  thou  mayst  be,"  replied  Lady  Both- 
well,  "  urge  me  not  so  cruelly.  It  would  be  but  blas- 
phemous hypocrisy  to  utter  with  my  lips  the  words  which 
every  throb  of  my  heart  protests  against.  They  would 
open  the  earth  and  give  to  light  the  wasted  form  of  my 
sister — the  bloody  form  of  my  murdered  brother — For- 
give him  ? — Never,  never !" 

"  Great  God  !"  cried  the  old  man,  holding  up  his  hands, 
"  is  it  thus  the  worms  which  thou  hast  called  out  of  dust 
obey  the  commands  of  their  Maker  ?  Farewell,  proud 
and  unforgiving  woman.  Exult  that  thou  hast  added  to 
a  death  in  want  and  pain  the  agonies  of  religious  despair  ; 
but  never  again  mock  Heaven  by  petitioning  for  the  par- 
don which  thou  hast  refused  to  grant." 

He  was  turning  from  her. 

"  Stop,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  will  try  j  yes,  I  will  try 
to  pardon  him." 

"  Gracious  lady,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  will  relieve 
the  over-burdened  soul  which  dares  not  sever  itself  from 
its  sinful  companion  of  earth  without  being  at  peace  with 
you.  What  do  I  know — your  forgiveness  may  perhaps 
oreserve  for  penitence  the  dregs  of  a  wretched  life." 

"  Ha  !"  said  the  lady,  as  a  sudden  light  broke  on  her, 
'  it  is  the  villain  himself."  And  grasping  Sir  Philip  For- 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  235 

ester,  for  it  was  he,  and  no  other,  by  the  collar,  she 
raised  a  cry  of  "  Murder,  murder  !  seize  the  murderer  !" 
At  an  exclamation  so  singular,  in  such  a  place,  the 
company  thronged  into  the  apartment,  but  Sir  Philip 
Forester  was  no  longer  there.  He  had  forcibly  extricated 
^imself  from  Lady  Bothwell's  hold,  and  had  run  out  of 
the  apartment  which  opened  on  the  landing-place  of  the 
stair.  There  seemed  no  escape  in  that  direction,  for 
there  were  several  persons  coming  up  the  steps,  and  oth- 
ers descending.  But  the  unfortunate  man  was  desperate. 
He  threw  himself  over  the  balustrade,  and  alighted  safely 
in  the  lobby,  though  a  leap  of  fifteen  feet  at  least,  then 
dashed  into  the  street,  and  was  lost  in  darkness.  Some 
of  the  Bothwell  family  made  pursuit,  and  had  they  come 
up  with  the  fugitive  they  might  have  perhaps  slain  him  ; 
for  in  those  days  men's  blood  ran  warm  in  their  veins. 
But  the  police  did  not  interfere ;  the  matter  most  crimi- 
nal having  happened  long  since,  and  in  a  foreign  land. 
Indeed  it  was  always  thought  that  this  extraordinary 
scene  originated  in  a  hypocritical  experiment,  by  which 
Sir  Philip  desired  to  ascertain  whether  he  might  return 
to  his  native  country  in  safety  from  the  resentment  of  a 
family  which  he  had  injured  so  deeply.  As  the  result 
fell  out  so  contrary  to  his  wishes,  he  is  believed  to  have 
returned  to  the  continent,  and  there  died  in  exile.  So 
closed  the  tale  of  the  MYSTERIOUS  MIRROR. 


THE 

TAPESTRIED   CHAMBER; 

OR, 

THELADYINTHESACQUE. 


[THIS  is  another  little  story,  from  the  Keepsake  of 
1828.  It  was  told  to  me  many  years  ago,  by  the  late 
Miss  Anna  Seward,  who,  among  other  accomplishments 
that  rendered  her  an  amusing  inmate  in  a  country  house, 
had  that  of  recounting  narratives  of  this  sort  with  very 
considerable  effect ;  much  greater,  indeed,  than  any  one 
would  be  apt  to  guess  from  the  style  of  her  written  per- 
formances. There  are  hours  and  moods  when  most  peo- 
ple are  not  displeased  to  listen  to  such  things  ;  and  I 
have  heard  some  of  the  greatest  and  wisest  of  my  con- 
temporaries take  their  share  in  telling  them.] 

August,  1831. 


THE  following  narrative  is  given  from  the  pen,  so  far 
as  memory  permits,  in  the  same  character  in  which  it 
was  presented  to  the  author's  ear  ;  nor  has  he  claim  to 
further  praise,  or  to  be  more  deeply  censured,  than  in 
proportion  to  the  good  or  bad  judgment  which  he  has 
employed  in  selecting  his  materials,  as  he  has  studiously 
avoided  any  attempt  at  ornament  which  might  interfere 
with  the  simplicity  rf  the  tale. 


THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER.  237 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  particu- 
lar class  of  stories  which  turns  on  the  marvellous,  pos- 
sesses a  stronger  influence  when  told,  that  when  commit- 
ted to  print.  The  volume  taken  up  at  noonday,  though 
rehearsing  the  same  incidents,  conveys  a  much  more  fee- 
ble impression,  than  is  achieved  by  the  voice  of  the 
speaker  on  a  circle  of  fireside  auditors,  who  hang  upon 
the  narrative  as  the  narrator  details  the  minute  incidents 
which  serve  to  give  it  authenticity,  and  lowers  his  voice 
with  an  affectation  of  mystery  while  he  approaches  the 
fearful  and  wonderful  part.  It  was  with  such  advantages 
that  the  present  writer  heard  the  following  events  related, 
more  than  twenty  years  since,  by  the  celebrated  Miss 
Seward,  of  Litchfield,  who,  to  her  numerous  accomplish- 
ments, added,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  the  power  of 
narrative  in  private  conversation.  In  its  present  form 
the  tale  must  necessarily  lose  all  the  interest  which  was 
attached  to  it.  by  the  flexible  voice  and  intelligent  features 
of  the  gifted  narrator.  Yet  still,  read  aloud,  to  an  un- 
doubting  audience  by  the  doubtful  light  of  the  closing 
evening,  or,  in  silence,  by  a  decaying  taper,  and  amidst 
the  solitude  of  a  half-lighted  apartment,  it  may  redeem 
its  character  as  a  good  ghost-story.  Miss  Seward  always 
affirmed  that  she  had  derived  her  information  from  an 
authentic  source,  although  she  suppressed  the  names  of 
the  two  persons  chiefly  concerned.  I  will  not  avail  my- 
self of  any  particulars  I  may  have  since  received  con- 
cerning the  localities  of  the  detail,  but  suffer  them  to  rest 
under  the  same  general  description  in  which  they  were 
first  related  to  me  ;  and,  for  the  same  reason,  I  will  not 
add  to,  or  diminish  the  narrative,  by  any  circumstance, 
whether  more  or  less  material,  but  simply  rehearse,  as  1 
heard  it,  a  story  of  supernatural  terror. 

About  the  end  of  the  American  war,  when  the  officers 
of  Lord  Cormvallis's  army,  which  surrendered  at  York- 
town,  and  others,  who  had  been  made  prisoners  during 
the  impolitic  and  ill-fated  controversy,  were  returning  to 
their  own  country,  to  relate  their  adventures,  and  repose 
themselves  after  their  fatigues  ;  there  was  amongst  them 


238  THE    TAPESTKIED    CHAMBER. 

a  general  officer,  to  whom  Miss  S.  gave  the  name  of 
Browne,  but  merely,  as  I  understood,  to  save  the  incon- 
venience of  introducing  a  nameless  agent  in  the  narrative 
He  was  an  officer  of  merit,  as  well  as  a  gentleman  of 
high  consideration  for  family  and  attainments. 

Some  business  had  carried  General  Browne  upon  a 
tour  through  the  western  counties,  when,  in  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  morning  stage,  he  found  himself  in  the  vicinity 
of  a  small  country  town,  which  presented  a  scene  of  un- 
common beauty,  and  of  a  character  peculiarly  English. 

The  little  town,  with  its  stately  old  church,  whose 
tower  bore  testimony  to  the  devotion  of  ages  long  past, 
lay  amidst  pastures  and  corn-fields  of  small  extent,  but 
bounded  and  divided  with  hedgerow  timber  of  great  age 
and  size.  There  were  few  marks  of  modern  improve- 
ment. The  environs  of  the  place  intimated  neither  the 
solitude  of  decay,  nor  the  bustle  of  novelty  ;  the  houses 
were  old,  but  in  good  repair  ;  and  the  beautiful  little 
river  murmured  freely  on  its  way  to  the  left  of  the  town, 
neither  restrained  by  a  dam,  nor  bordered  by  a  towing- 
path. 

Upon  a  gentle  eminence,  nearly  a  mile  to  the  south- 
ward of  the  town,  were  seen,  amongst  many  venerable 
oaks  and  tangled  thickets,  the  turrets  of  a  castle,  as  old 
as  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster,  but  which  seemed  to 
have  received  important  alterations  during  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  and  her  successor.  It  had  not  been  a  place  of 
great  size  ;  but  whatever  accommodation  it  formerly  af- 
forded, was,  it  must  be  supposed,  still  to  be  obtained 
within  its  walls  ;  at  least,  such  was  the  inference  which 
General  Browne  drew  from  observing  the  smoke  arise 
merrily  from  several  of  the  ancient  wreathed  and  carved 
chimney-stalks.  The  wall  of  the  park  ran  alongside  of 
the  highway  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards  ;  and  through 
the  different  points  by  which  the  eye  found  glimpses  into 
the  woodland  scenery,  it  seemed  to  be  well  stocked. 
Other  points  of  view  opened  in  succession  ;  now  a  full 
one,  of  the  front  of  the  old  castle,  and  now  a  side  glimpse 
at  its  particular  towers  ;  the  former  rich  in  all  the  bizar- 


THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBEU.  239 

rerie  of  the  Elizabethan  school,  while  the  simple  and 
solid  strength  of  other  parts  of  the  building  seemea  to 
show  that  they  had  been  raised  more  for  defence  than 
ostentation. 

Delighted  with  the  partial  glimpses  which  he  obtained 
of  the  castle  through  the  woods  and  glades  by  which  this 
ancient  feudal  fortress  was  surrounded,  our  military  travel- 
ler was  determined  to  enquire  whether  it  might  not  de- 
serve a  nearer  view,  and  whether  it  contained  family  pic- 
tures or  other  objects  of  curiosity  worthy  of  a  stranger's 
risit  ;  when,  leaving  the  vicinity  of  the  park,  he  rolled 
through  'a  clean  and  well-paved  street,  and  stopped  at  the 
door  of  a  well-frequented  inn. 

Before  ordering  horses  to  proceed  on  his  journey, 
General  Browne  made  enquiries  concerning  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  chateau  which  had  so  attracted  his  admiration ; 
and  was  equally  surprised  and  pleased  at  hearing  in  reply 
a  nobleman  named,  whom  we  shall  call  Lord  Woodville. 
How  fortunate  !  Much  of  Browne's  early  recollections, 
both  at  school  and  at  college,  had  been  connected  with 
young  Woodville,  whom,  by  a  few  questions,  he  now  as- 
certained to  be  the  same  with  the  owner  of  this  fair  do- 
main. He  had  been  raised  to  the  peerage  by  the  decease 
of  his  father  a  few  months  before,  and,  as  the  General 
learned  from  the  landlord,  the  term  of  mourning  being 
ended,  was  now  taking  possession  of  his  paternal  estate, 
in  the  jovial  season  of  merry  autumn,  accompanied  by  a 
select  party  of  friends  to  enjoy  the  sports  of  a  country 
famous  for  game. 

This  was  delightful  news  to  our  traveller.  Frank 
Woodville  had  been  Richard  Browne's  fag  at  Eton,  and 
his  chosen  intimate  at  Christ  Church  ;  their  pleasures 
and  their  tasks  had  been  the  same  ;  and  the  honest  sol- 
dier's heart  warmed  to  find  his  early  friend  in  possession 
of  so  delightful  a  residence,  and  of  an  estate,  as  the  land- 
ord  assured  him  with  a  nod  and  a  wink,  fully  adequate 
o  maintain  and  add  to  his  dignity.  Nothing  was  moro 
natural  than  that  the  traveller  should  suspend  a  journey, 


240  THE    TAPESTUIED    CHAMBER. 

which  there  was  nothing  to  render  hurried,  to  pay  a  vi&it 
to  an  old  friend  under  such  agreeable  circumstances. 

The  fresh  horses,  therefore,  had  only  the  brief  task  of 
conveying  the  General's  travelling  carriage  to  Woodville 
Castle.  A  porter  admitted  them  at  a  modern  Gothic 
lodge,  built  in  that  style  to  correspond  with  the  castle  it- 
self, and  at  the  same  time  rang  a  bell  to  give  warning  of 
the  approach  of  visiters.  Apparently  the  sound  of  the 
bell  had  suspended  the  separation  of  the  company,  bent 
on  the  various  amusements  of  the  morning  ;  for,  on  en- 
tering the  court  of  the  chateau,  several  young  men  were 
lounging  about  in  their  sporting  dresses,  looking  at,  and 
criticising,  the  dogs  which  the  keepers  held  in  readiness 
to  attend  their  pastime.  As  General  Browne  alighted, 
the  young  lord  came  to  the  gate  of  the  hall,  and  for  an 
instant  gazed,  as  at  a  stranger,  upon  the  countenance  of 
his  friend,  on  which  war,  with  its  fatigues  and  its  wounds, 
had  made  a  great  alteration.  But  the  uncertainty  lasted 
no  longer  than  till  the  visiter  had  spoken,  and  the  hearty 
greeting  which  followed  was  such  as  can  only  be  ex- 
changed betwixt  those  who  have  passed  together  the 
merry  days  of  careless  boyhood  or  early  youth. 

"  If  I  could  have  formed  a  wish,  my  dear  Browne," 
said  Lord  Woodville,  "  it  would  have  been  to  have  you 
here,  of  all  men,  upon  this  occasion,  which  my  friends 
are  good  enough  to  hold  as  a  sort  of  holiday.  Do  not 
think  you  have  been  unwatched  during  the  years  you 
have  been  absent  from  us.  I  have  traced  you  through 
your  dangers,  your  triumphs,  your  misfortunes,  and  was 
delighted  to  see  that,  whether  in  victory  or  defeat,  the 
name  of  my  old  friend  was  always  distinguished  with 
applause." 

The  General  made  a  suitable  reply,  and  congratulated 
his  friend  on  his  new  dignities,  and  the  possession  of  a 
place  and  domain  so  beautiful. 

"  Nay,  you  have  seen  nothing  of  it  as  yet,"  said  Lord 
Woodville,  "  and  I  trust  you  do  not  mean  to  leave  us  till 
you  are  better  acquainted  with  it.  It  is  true,  I  confess, 
.hat  my  present  party  is  pretty  large,  and  the  old  house, 


THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER.  241 

hke  other  places  of  the  kind,  does  not  possess  so  much 
accommodation  as  the  extent  of  the  outward  walls  ap- 
pears to  promise.  But  we  can  give  you  a  comfortahle 
old-fashioned  room,  and  I  venture  to  suppose  that  your 
campaigns  have  taught  you  to  be  glad  of  worse  quar- 
ters." 

The  General  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed. 
"  I  presume,"  he  said,  "  the  worst  apartment  in  your 
chateau  is  considerably  superior  to  the  old  tobacco-cask, 
in  which  I  was  fain  to  take  up  my  night's  lodging  when  I 
was  in  the  Bush,  as  the  Virginians  call  it,  with  the  light 
corps.  There  I  lay,  like  Diogenes  himself,  so  delighted 
with  my  covering  from  the  elements,  that  I  made  a  vain 
attempt  to  have  it  rolled  on  to  my  next  quarters  ;  but  my 
commander  for  the  time  would  give  way  to  no  such  luxu- 
rious provision,  and  I  took  farewell  of  my  beloved  cask 
with  tears  in  my  eyes." 

"  Well,  then,  since  you  do  not  fear  your  quarters," 
said  Lord  Woodville,  "  you  will  stay  with  rne  a  week  at 
least.  Of  guns,  dogs,  fishing-rods,  flies,  and  means  of 
sport  by  sea  and  land,  we  have  enough  and  to  spare  ; 
you  cannot  pitch  on  an  amusement  but  we  will  find  the 
means  of  pursuing  it.  But  if  you  prefer  the  gun  and 
pointers,  I  will  go  with  you  myself,  and  see  whether  you 
have  mended  your  shooting  since  you  have  been  amongst 
the  Indians  of  the  back  settlements." 

The  General  gladly  accepted  his  friendly  host's  pro- 
posal in  all  its  points.  After  a  morning  of  manly  exer- 
cise, the  company  met  at  dinner,  where  it  was  the  delight 
of  Lord  Woodville  to  conduce  to  the  display  of  the  high 
properties  of  his  recovered  friend,  so  as  to  recommend 
him  to  his  guests,  most  of  whom  were  persons  of  distinc- 
tion. He  sd  General  Browne  to  speak  of  the  scenes 
he  had  witnessed  ;  and  as  every  word  marked  alike  the 
brave  officer  and  the  sensible  man,  who  retained  pos- 
session of  his  cool  judgment  under  the  most  immhent 
dangers,  the  company  looked  upon  the  soldier  with  gene- 
ral re>pect,  as  on  one  who  had  proved  himself  possessed 

VOL.   II. 


242  THE    TAPESTHIED    CHAMBER. 

of  an  uncommon  portion  of  personal  courage  ;  th  it  at- 
tribute, of  all  others,  of  which  every  body  desires  to  be 
thought  possessed. 

The  day  at  Woodville  Castle  ended  as  usual  in  such 
mansions.  The  hospitality  stopped  within  the  limits  of 
good  order  ;  music,  in  which  the  young  lord  was  a  pro- 
ficient, succeeded  to  the  circulation  of  the  bottle  :  cards 
and  billiards,  for  those  who  preferred  such  amusements, 
were  in  readiness  :  but  the  exercise  of  the  morning  re- 
quired early  hours,  and  not  long  after  eleven  o'clock  the 
guests  began  to  retire  to  their  several  apartments. 

The  young  lord  himself  conducted  his  friend,  General 
Browne,  to  the  chamber  destined  for  him,  which  answered 
the  description  he  had  given  of  it,  being  comfortable, 
but  old-fashioned.  The  bed  was  of  the  massive  form 
used  in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  the  cur- 
tains of  .faded  silk,  heavily  trimmed  with  tarnished  gold. 
But  then  the  sheets,  pillows,  and  blankets  looked  delight- 
ful to  the  campaigner,  when  he  thought  of  his  "  man- 
sion, the  cask."  There  was  an  air  of  gloom  in  the 
tapestry  hangings,  which,  with  their  worn-out  graces, 
curtained  the  walls  of  the  little  chamber,  and  gently  un- 
dulated as  the  autumnal  breeze  found  its  way  through  the 
ancient  lattice-window,  which  pattered  and  whistled  as 
the  air  gained  entrance.  The  toilet  too,  with  its  mirror, 
turbaned,  after  the  manner  of  the  beginning  of  the  cen- 
tury, with  a  coiffure  of  murrey-coloured  silk,  and  its  hun- 
dred strange-shaped  boxes,  providing  for  arrangements 
which  had  been  obsolete  for  more  than  fifty  years,  had 
an  antique,  and  in  so  far  a  melancholy,  aspect.  But 
nothing  could  blaze  more  brightly  and  cheerfully  than 
the  two  large  wax  candles  ;  or  if  aught  could  rival  them, 
it  was  the  flaming  bickering  fagots  in  the  chimney,  that 
sent  at  once  their  ^leatn  and  their  warmth  through  the 

o  c? 

snug  apartment ;  which,  notwithstanding  the  general  an- 
tiquity of  its  appearance,  was  not  wanting  in  the  least 
convenience,  that  modern  habits  rendered  either  necessary 
or  desirable. 

''This  is  an  old-fashioned  sleeping  apartment,  General," 


THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER. 

said  the  young  lord  ;  "  but  I  hope  you  find  nothing  that 
makes  you  envy  your  old  tobacco-cask." 

"  I  am  not  particular  respecting  my  lodgings,"  replied 
the  General ;  "  yet  were  I  to  make  any  choice,  I  would 
prefer  this  chamber  by  many  degrees,  to  the  gayer  and 
more  modern  rooms  of  your  family  mansion.  Believe 
me,  that  when  I  unite  its  modern  air  of  comfort  with  its 
venerable  antiquity,  and  recollect  that  it  is  your  lordship's 
property,  I  shall  feel  in  better  quarters  here,  than  if  I 
were  in  the  best  hotel  London  could  afford." 

"  I  trust — I  have  no  doubt — that  you  will  find  your- 
self as  comfortable  as  1  wish  you,  my  dear  General," 
said  the  young  nobleman  ;  and  once  more  bidding  his 
guest  good-night,  he  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  with- 
drew. 

The  General  once  more  looked  round  him,  and  inter- 
nally congratulating  himself  on  his  return  to  peaceful 
life,  the  comforts  of  which  were  endeared  by  the  recol- 
lection of  the  hardships  and  dangers  he  had  lately  sus- 
tained, undressed  himself,  and  prepared  for  a  luxurious 
night's  rest. 

Here,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  tin's  species  of  tale, 
we  leave  the  General  in  possession  of  his  apartment  until 
the  next  morning. 

The  company  assembled  for  breakfast  at  an  early  hour, 
but  without  the  appearance  of  General  Browne,  who 
seemed  the  guest  that  Lord  Woodville  was  desirous  of 
honouring  above  all  whom  his  hospitality  had  assembled 
around  him.  He  more  than  once  expressed  surprise  at 
the  General's  absence,  and  at  length  sent  a  servant  to 
make  enquiry  after  him.  The  man  brought  back  infor- 
mation that  General  Browne  had  been  walking  abroad 
since  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  in  defiance  of  the 
weather,  which  was  misty  and  ungenial. 

"  The  custom  of  a  soldier," — said  the  young  noble- 
man to  his  friends  ;  "  many  of  them  acquire  iiabitual 
vigilance,  and  cannot  sleep  after  the  early  hour  at  which 
iheir  duty  usually  commands  them  to  be  alert." 

Yet  the  explanation  which  Lord  Woodville  thus  offered 


244  THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER. 

to  the  company  seemed  hardly  satisfactory  to  his  own 
mind,  and  it  was  in  a  fit  of  silence  and  abstraction  that 
he  awaited  the  return  of  the  General.  It  took  place 
near  an  hour  after  the  breakfast  bell  had  rung.  He 
looked  fatigued  and  feverish.  His  hair,  the  powdering 
and  arrangement  of  which  was  at  this  time  one  of  the 
most  important  occupations  of  a  man's  whole  day,  and 
marked  his  fashion  as  much  as,  in  the  present  time,  the 
tying  of  a  cravat,  or  the  want  of  one,  was  dishevelled, 
uncurled,  void  of  powder,  and  dank  with  dew.  His 
clothes  were  huddled  on  with  a  careless  negligence,  re- 
markable in  a  military  man,  whose  real  or  supposed  du- 
ties are  usually  held  to  include  some  attention  to  the 
toilet ;  and  his  looks  were  haggard  and  ghastly  in  a 
peculiar  degree. 

"  So  you  have  stolen  a  march  upon  us  this  morning, 
my  dear  General,"  said  Lord  Woodville  ;  "  or  you  have 
not  found  your  bed  so  much  to  your  mind  as  I  had  hoped 
and  you  seemed  to  expect.  How  did  you  rest  last 
night  ?" 

"  Oh,  excellently  well !  remarkably  well  !  never  better 
in  my  life" — said  General  Browne  rapidly,  and  yet  with 
an  air  of  embarrassment  which  was  obvious  to  his  friend. 
He  then  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  neglecting 
or  refusing  whatever  else  was  offered,  seemed  to  fall  into 
a  fit  of  abstraction. 

"  You  will  take  the  gun  to-day,  General  ?"  said  his 
friend  and  host,  but  had  to  repeat  the  question  twice  ere 
he  received  the  abrupt  answer,  "  No,  my  lord  ;  I  am 
sorry  I  cannot  have  the  honour  of  spending  another  day 
w;th  your  lordship  :  my  post  horses  are  ordered,  and  will 
be  here  directly." 

All  who  were  present  showed  surprise,  and  Lord 
Woodville  immediately  replied,  "  Post  horses,  my  good 
friend  !  what  can  you  possibly  want  with  them,  when 
you  promised  to  stay  with  me  quietly  for  at  least  a 
week  ?" 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  General,  obviously  much  em- 
Karrassed,  "  that  I  might,  in  the  pleasure  of  my  first 


THE    TAPESTRIED     CHAMBER.  245 

meeting  with  your  lordship,  have  said  something  abou 
stopping  here  a  few  days  ;  but  I  have  since  found  it  alto- 
gether impossible." 

"  That  is  very  extraordinary,"  answered  the  young 
nobleman.  "  You  seemed  quite  disengaged  yesterday, 
and  you  cannot  have  had  a  summons  to-day  ;  for  our  post 
has  not  come  up  from  the  town,  and  therefore  you  cannot 
have  received  any  letters." 

General  Browne,  without  giving  any  further  explana- 
tion, muttered  something  of  indispensable  business,  and 
insisted  on  the  absolute  necessity  of  his  departure  in  a 
manner  which  silenced  all  opposition  on  the  part  of  his 
host,  who  saw  that  his  resolution  was  taken,  and  forbore 
all  further  importunity. 

"  At  least,  however,"  he  said,  "  permit  me,  my  dear 
Browne,  since  go  you  will  or  must,  to  show  you  the  view 
from  the  terrace,  which  the  mist,  that  is  now  rising,  will 
soon  display." 

He  threw  open  a  sash-window,  and  stepped  down 
upon  the  terrace  as  he  spoke.  The  General  followed 
him  mechanically,  but  seemed  little  to  attend  to  what  his 
host  was  saying,  as,  looking  across  an  extended  and  rich 
prospect,  he  pointed  out  the  different  objects  worthy  of 
observation.  Thus  they  moved  on  till  Lord  Woodville 
had  attained  his  purpose  of  drawing  his  guest  entirely 
apart  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  when,  turning  round 
upon  him  with  an  air  of  great  solemnity,  he  addressed 
him  thus  : 

"  Richard  Browne,  my  old  and  very  dear  friend,  we 
i_-e  now  alone.  Let  me  conjure  you  to  answer  me  upon 
the  word  of  a  friend,  and  the  honour  of  a  soldier.  How 
did  you  in  reality  rest  during  last  night  ?" 

"  Most  wretchedly  indeed,  my  lord,"  answered  the 
General,  in  the  same  tone  of  solemnity  ; — "  so  misera- 
bly, that  I  would  not  run  the  risk  of  such  a  second  night, 
not  only  for  all  the  lands  belonging  to  this  castle,  but  for 
all  the  country  which  I  see  from  this  elevated  point  of 
view." 

553 


E46  THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER. 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary,"  said  the  young  lord, 
t>s  if  speaking  to  himself ;  "  then  there  must  he  some- 
thing '~i  the  reports  concerning  that  apartment."  Again 
turning  to  the  General,  he  said,  "  For  God's  sake,  my 
dear  friend,  be  candid  with  me,  and  let  me  know  the  dis- 
agreeable particulars  which  have  befallen  you  under  a 
roof,  where,  with  consent  of  the  owner,  you  should  have 
met  nothing  =ave  comfort." 

The  General  seemed  distressed  by  this  appeal,  and 
paused  a  moment  before  he  replied.  "  My  dear  lord," 
he  at  length  said,  "  what  happened  to  me  last  night  is 
of  a  nature  so  peculiar  and  so  unpleasant,  that  I  could 
hardly  bring  myself  -to  detail  it  even  to  your  lordship, 
were  it  not  that,  independent  of  my  wish  to  gratify  any 
request  of  yours,  I  think  that  sincerity  on  my  parl  may 
lead  to  some  explanation  about  a  circumstance  equally 
painful  and  mysterious.  To  others,  the  communication 
I  am  about  to  make,  might  place  me  in  the  light  of  a 
weak-minded,  superstitious  fool,  who  suffered  his  own 
imagination  to  delude  and  bewilder  him  ;  but  you  have 
known  me  in  childhood  and  youth,  and  will  not  suspect 
me  of  having  adopted  in  manhood  the  feelings  and  frail- 
ties from  which  my  early  years  were  free."  Here  he 
paused,  and  his  friend  replied  : 

"  Do  not  doubt  my  perfect  confidence  in  the  truth  of 
your  communication,  however  strange  it  may  be,"  replied 
Lord  Woodville  ;  "  I  know  your  firmness  of  disposition 
too  well,  to  suspect  you  could  be  made  the  object  of  im- 
position, and  am  aware  that  your  honour  and  your  friend- 
ship will  equally  deter  you  from  exaggerating  whatever 
you  may  have  witnessed." 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  General,  "  I  will  proceed  with 
my  story  as  well  as  I  can,  relying  upon  your  candour ; 
and  yet  distinctly  feeling  that  I  would  rather  face  a  bat- 
tery than  recall  to  my  mind  the  odious  recollections  of 
last  night." 

He  paused  a  second  time,  and  then  perceiving  that 
Lord  Woodville  remained  silent  and  in  an  attitude  of  at- 
tention, he  commenced  though  not  without  obvious  re- 


THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER.  "2'\~l 

luctance,  the  history  of  his  night  adventures  in  the  Tapes- 
tried Chamber. 

"  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed,  so  soon  as  your  lord- 
ship left  me  yesterday  evening  ;  but  the  wood  in  the 
chimney,  which  nearly  fronted  my  bed,  blazed  brightly 
and  chee  fully,  and,  aided  by  a  hundred  exciting  recol- 
lections of  rny  childhood  and  youth,  which  had  bee^i 
recalled  by  the  unexpected  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
lordship,  prevented  me  from  falling  immediately  asleep. 
I  ought,  however,  to  say,  that  these  reflections  were  all 
of  a  pleasant  and  agreeable  kind,  grounded  on  a  sense  of 
having  ior  a  time  exchanged  the  labour,  fatigues,  and 
dangers  of  my  profession,  for  the  enjoyments  of  a  peace- 
ful life,  and  the  reunion  of  those  friendly  and  affectionate 
ties,  which  I  had  torn  asunder  at  the  rude  summons  of 
war. 

"  While  such  pleasing  reflections  were  stealing  over 
my  mind,  and  gradually  lulling  me  to  slumber,  I  was  sud- 
denly aroused  by  a  sound  like  that  of  the  rustling  of  a 
silken  gown,  and  the  tapping  of  a  pair  of  high-heeled 
shoes,  as  if  a  woman  were  walking  in  the  apartment. 
Ere  I  could  draw  the  curtain  to  see  what  the  matter  was, 
the  figure  of  a  little  woman  passed  between  the  bed  and 
the  fire.  The  back  of  this  form  was  turned  to  me,  and 
I  could  observe,  from  the  shoulders  and  neck,  it  was  that 
of  an  old  woman,  whose  dress  was  an  old-fashioned 
gown,  which,  I  think,  ladies  call  a  sacque ;  that  is,  a  sort 
of  robe  completely  loose  in  the  body,  but  gathered  into 
broad  plaits  upon  the  neck  and  shoulders,  which  fall  down 
to  the  ground,  and  terminate  in  a  species  of  train. 

"  I  thought  the  intrusion  singular  enough,  but  never 
harboured  for  a  moment  the  idea  that  what  I  saw  was 
any  thing  more  than  the  mortal  form  of  some  old  woman 
about  the  establishment,  who  had  a  fancy  to  dress  like 
her  grandmother,  and  who,  having  perhaps  (as  your  lord- 
ship mentioned  that  you  were  rather  straitened  for  room) 
been  dislodged  from  her  chamber  for  my  accommodation, 
had  forgotten  the  circumstance,  and  returned  by  twelve 
to  her  old  haunt  Under  this  persuasion  I  moved  my« 


248  T1IE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER. 

self  in  bed  and  coughed  a  little,  to  make  the  intruder 
sensible  of  my  being  in  possession  of  the  premises. — She 
turned  slowly  round,  but,  gracious  heaven  !  my  lord, 
what  a  countenance  did  she  display  to  me  !  There  was 
no  longer  any  question  what  she  was,  or  any  thought  of 
her  being  a  living  being.  Upon  a  face  which  wore  the 
fixed  features  of  a  corpse,  were  imprinted  the  traces  of 
the  vilest  and  most  hideous  passions  which  had  animated 
her  while  she  lived.  The  body  of  some  atrocious  crimi- 
nal seemed  to  have  been  given  up  from  the  grave,  and 
the  soul  restored  from  the  penal  fire,  in  order  to  form, 
for  a  space,  an  union  with  the  ancient  accomplice  of  its 
guilt.  I  started  up  in  bed,  and  sat  upright,  supporting 
myself  on  my  palms,  as  I  gazed  on  this  horrible  spectre. 
The  hag  made,  as  it  seemed,  a  single  and  swift  stride  to 
the  bed  where  I  lay,  and  squatted  herself  down  upon  it 
in  precisely  the  same  attitude  which  I  had  assumed  in 
the  extremity  of  horror,  advancing  her  diabolical  counte- 
nance within  half  a  yard  of  mine,  with  a  grin  which 
seemed  to  intimate  the  malice  and  the  derision  of  an  in- 
carnate fiend." 

Here  General  Browne  stopped,  and  wiped  from  his 
brow  the  cold  perspiration  with  which  the  recollection  of 
his  horrible  vision  had  covered  it. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  1  am  no  coward.  I  have  been 
in  all  the  mortal  dangers  incidental  to  my  profession,  and 
1  may  truly  boast,  that  no  man  ever  knew  Richard  Browne 
dishonour  the  sword  he  wears ;  but  in  these  horrible  cir- 
cumstances, under  the  eyes,  and,  as  it  seemed,  almost  in 
the  grasp  of  an  incarnation  of  an  evil  spirit,  all  firmness 
forsook  me,  all  manhood  melted  from  me  like  wax  in  the 
furnace,  and  I  felt  my  hair  individually  bristle.  The 
current  of  my  life-blood  ceased  to  flow,  and  I  sank  back 
in  a  swoon,  as  very  a  victim  to  panic  terror  as  ever  was 
a  village  girl,  or  a  child  of  ten  years  old.  How  long  I 
lay  in  this  condition  I  cannot  pretend  to  guess. 

"  But  I  was  roused  by  the  castle  clock  striking  one,  so 
loud  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  in  the  very  room.  It 
tvas  some  time  before  I  dared  open  my  eyes,  lest  they 


THE    TAPKSTRIED    CHAMBER.  249 

should  again  encounter  the  horrible  spectacle.  When, 
however,  I  summoned  courage  to  look  up,  she  was  no 
longer  visible.  My  first  idea  was  to  pull  my  bell,  wake 
the  servants,  and  remove  to  a  garret  or  a  hay-loft,  to  be 
ensured  against  a  second  visitation.  Nay,  I  will  confess 
the  truth,  that  my  resolution  was  altered,  not  by  the 
shame  of  exposing  myself,  but  by  the  fear  that,  as  the 
bell-cord  hung  by  the  chimney,  I  might,  in  making  my 
way  to  it,  be  again  crossed  by  the  fiendish  hag,  who,  J 
figured  to  myself,  might  be  still  lurking  about  some  cor- 
ner of  the  apartment. 

"  I  will  not  pretend  to  describe  what  hot  and  cold 
fever-fits  tormented  me  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  through 
broken  sleep,  weary  vigils,  and  that  dubious  state  which 
forms  the  neutral  ground  between  them  An  hundred 
terrible  objects  appeared  to  haunt  me  ;  but  there  was 
the  gieat  difference  betwixt  the  vision  which  I  have  de- 
scribed, and  those  which  followed,  that  I  knew  the  last 
to  be  deceptions  of  my  own  fancy  and  over-excited 
nerves. 

"  Day  at  last  appeared,  and  I  rose  from  rny  bed  ill  in 
health,  and  humiliated  in  mind.  I  was  ashamed  of  my- 
self as  a  man  and  a  soldier,  and  still  more  so,  at  feeling 
my  own  extreme  desire  to  escape  from  the  haunted  apart- 
ment, which,  however,  conquered  all  other  considera- 
tions ;  so  that,  huddling  on  my  clothes  with  the  most 
careless  haste,  I  made  my  escape  from  your  lordship's 
mansion,  to  seek  in  the  open  air  some  relief  to  my  ner- 
vous system,  shaken  as  it  was  by  this  horrible  rencounter 
with  a  visitant,  for  such  I  must  believe  her,  from  the  other 
world.  Your  lordship  has  now  heard  the  cause  of  my 
discomposure,  and  of  my  sudden  desire  to  leave  your 
hospitable  castle.  In  other  places  I  trust  we  may  often 
meet  ;  but  God  protect  me  from  ever  spending  a  second 
night  under  that  roof!" 

Strange  as  the  General's  tale  was,  he  spoke  with  such 
a  deep  air  of  conviction,  that  it  cut  short  all  the  usual 
commentaries  which  are  made  on  such  stories.  Lord 
Woodville  never  once  asked  him  if  he  was  sure  he  did 


250  TUB    TAPRSTHIED    CHAMBER. 

not  dream  of  the  apparition,  or  suggested  any  of  the  pos- 
sibilities by  which  it  is  fashionable  to  explain  supernatura. 
appearances,  as  wild  vagaries  of  the  fancy,  or  deceptions 
of  the  optic  nerves.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  deeply 
impressed  with  the  truth  and  reality  of  what  he  had 
heard  ;  and,  after  a  considerable  pause,  regretted,  with 
much  appearance  of  sincerity,  that  his  early  friend  should 
in  his  house  have  suffered  so  severely. 

"  I  am  the  more  sorry  for  your  pain,  my  dear  Browne," 
he  continued,  "  that  it  is  the  unhappy,  though  most  un- 
expected, result  of  an  experiment  of  my  own.  You 
must  know,  that  for  my  father  and  grandfather's  time,  at 
least,  the  apartment  which  was  assigned  to  you  last  night, 
had  been  shut  on  account  of  reports  that  it  was  disturbed 
by  supernatural  sights  and  noises.  When  I  came,  a  few 
weeks  since,  into  possession  of  the  estate,  I  thought  the 
accommodation,  which  the  castle  afforded  for  my  friends, 
was  not  extensive  enough  to  permit  the  inhabitants  of 
the  invisible  world  to  retain  possession  of  a  comfortable 
sleeping  apartment.  1  therefore  caused  the  Tapestried 
Chamber,  as  we  call  it,  to  be  opened  ;  and,  without  de- 
stroying its  air  of  antiquity,  I  had  such  new  articles  of 
furniture  placed  in  it  as  became  the  modern  times.  Yet 
as  the  opinion  that  the  room  was  haunted  very  strongly 
prevailed  among  the  domestics,  and  was  also  known  in 
the  neighbourhood  and  to  many  of  my  friends,  1  feared 
some  prejudice  might  be  entertained  by  the  first  occu- 
pant of  the  Tapestried  Chamber,  which  might  tend  to 
revive  the  evil  report  which  it  had  laboured  under,  and 
so  disappoint  my  purpose  of  rendering  it  an  useful  part 
of  the  house.  I  must  confess,  my  dear  Browne,  that 
your  arrival  yesterday,  agreeable  to  me  for  a  thousand 
reasons  besides,  seemed  the  most  favourable  opportunity 
of  removing  the  unpleasant  rumours  which  attached  to 
the  room,  since  your  courage  was  indubitable,  and  your 
mind  free  of  any  pre-occupation  on  the  subject.  I  could 
not,  therefore,  have  chosen  a  more  fitting  subject  for  my 
experiment." 

"  Upon   my   life,"   said   General    Browne,  somewhat 


THE   TAPESTRIED   CHAMBER.  251 

hastily,  "I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  your  lordship — very 
particularly  indebted  indeed.  I  am  likely  to  remember 
for  some  time  the  consequences  of  the  experiment,  as 
your  lordship  is  pleased  to  call  it." 

"Nay,  now  you  are  unjust,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Lord 
Woodville.  "  You  have  only  to  reflect  for  a  single  mo- 
ment, in  order  to  be  convinced  that  I  could  not  awur 

*  O 

the  possibility  of  the  pain  to  which  you  have  been  so 
unhappily  exposed.  I  \vas  yesterday  morning  a  complete 
sceptic  on  the  subject  of  supernatural  appearances.  Nay, 
I  am  sure  that  had  I  told  you  what  was  said  about  that 
room,  those  very  reports  would  have  induced  you,  by 
your  own  choice,  to  select  it  for  your  accommodation. 
It  was  my  misfortune,  perhaps  my  error,  but  really  can- 
not be  termed  my  fault,  that  you  have  been  afflicted  so 
strangely." 

"  Strangely  indeed  !"  said  the  General,  resuming  his 
good  temper  ;  "  and  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  no  right 
to  be  offended  with  your  lordship  for  treating  me  like 
what  I  used  to  think  myself — a  man  of  some  firmness 
and  courage. — But  I  see  my  post  horses  are  arrived, 
and  I  must  not  detain  your  lordship  from  your  amuse- 
ment." 

"  Nay,  my  old  friend,"  said  Lord  Woodville,  "  since 
you  cannot  stay  with  us  another  day,  which,  indeed,  I 
can  no  longer  urge,  give  me  at  least  half  an  hour  more. 
You  used  to  love  pictures,  and  I  have  a  gallery  of  por- 
traits, some  of  them  by  Vandyke,  representing  ancestry 
to  whom  this  property  and  castle  formerly  belonged.  I 
think  that  several  of  them  will  strike  you  as  possessing 
merit." 

General  Browne  accepted  the  invitation,  though  some- 
what unwillingly.  It  was  evident  he  was  not  to  breathe 
freely  or  at  ease  till  he  left  Woodville  Castle  far  behind 
him.  He  could  not  refuse  his  friend's  invitation,  how- 
ever ;  and  the  less  so,  that  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of 
the  peevishness  which  he  had  displayed  towards  his  well- 
meaning  entertainer. 

The    General,    therefore,    followed    Lord    Woodville 


252  THE    TAPESTRIKD    CHAMBER. 

through  several  rooms,  into  a  long  gallery  hung  with  pic- 
tures, which  the  latter  pointed  out  to  his  guest,  telling 
the  names,  and  giving  some  account  of  the  personages 
whose  portraits  presented  themselves  in  progression. 
General  Browne  was  but  little  interested  in  the  details 
which  these  accounts  conveyed  to  him.  They  were,  in- 
deed, of  the  kind  which  are  usually  found  in  an  old  fami- 
ly gallery.  Here,  was  a  cavalier  who  had  ruined  the 
estate  in  the  royal  cause  ;  there,  a  fine  lady  who  had 
reinstated  it  by  contracting  a  match  with  a  wealthy 
Roundhead.  There,  hung  a  gallant  who  had  been  in 
danger  for  corresponding  with  the  exiled  Court  at  Saint 
Germain's  ;  here,  one  who  had  taken  arms  for  William 
ai  the  Revolution  ;  and  there,  a  third  that  had  thrown 
his  weight  alternately  into  the  scale  of  whig  and  tory. 

While  Lord  Woodville  was  cramming  these  words  into 
his  guest's  ear,  "  against  the  stomach  of  his  sense,"  they 
gained  the  middle  of  the  gallery,  when  he  beheld  Gene- 
ral Browne  suddenly  start,  and  assume  an  attitude  of  the 
utmost  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  fear,  as  his  eyes  were 
caught  and  suddenly  riveted  by  a  portrait  of  an  old  lady 
in  a  sacque,  the  fashionable  dress  of  the  end  of  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

"  There  she  is  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  there  she  is,  hi 
form  and  features,  though  inferior  in  demoniac  expression 
to  the  accursed  hag  who  visited  me  last  night  !" 

"If  that  be  the  case,"  said  the  young  nobleman, 
•'  there  can  remain  no  longer  any  doubt  of  the  horrible 
reality  of  your  apparition.  That  is  the  picture  of  a 
wretched  ancestress  of  mine,  of  whose  crimes  a  black 
and  fearful  catalogue  is  recorded  in  a  family  history  ia 
my  charter-chest.  The  recital  of  them  would  be  too 
horrible  ;  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  in  yon  fatal  apartnaeiii 
incest  and  unnatural  murder  were  committed.  I  will  re- 
store it  to  the  solitude  to  which  the  better  judgment  of 
those  who  preceded  me  had  consigned  it ;  and  never 
shall  any  one,  so  long  as  I  can  prevent  it,  be  exposed  to 
a  repetition  of  the  supernatural  horrors  which  could  shake 
such  courage  as  jours." 


THE  LAIRDS  JOCK. 

Thus  *.he  friends,  who  had  met  with  such  glee,  parted 
in  a  very  different  mood  ;  Lord  Woodville  to  command 
the  Tapestried  Chamber  to  be  unmantled  and  the  door 
built  up  ;  and  General  Browne  to  seek  in  some  less 
beautiful  country,  and  with  some  less  dignified  friend, 
forgetfulness  of  the  painful  night  which  he  had  passed 
in  Woodville  Castle. 

END    OF    THE    TAPESTRIED    CHAMBER. 


DEATH   OF   THE    LAIRD'S    JOCK. 


[The  manner  in  which  this  trifle  was  introduced  at  the 
time  to  Mr.  F.  M.  Reynolds,  editor  of  The  Keepsake 
of  1828,  leaves  no  occasion  for  a  preface.] 

August,   1831. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE    KEEPSAKE. 

You  have  asked  me,  sir,  to  point  out  a  subject  for  the 
pencil,  and  I  feel  the  difficulty  of  complying  with  your 
request ;  although  I  am  not  certainly  unaccustomed  to 
literary  composition,  or  a  total  stranger  to  the  stores  of 
history  and  tradition,  which  afford  the  best  copies  for  the 
painter's  art.  But  although  sicut  pictura  poesis  is  an 
ancient  and  undisputed  axiom — although  poetry  and 
painting  both  address  themselves  to  the  same  object  of 
exciting  the  human  imagination  by  presenting  to  it  pleas- 
ing or  sublime  images  of  ideal  scenes  ;  yet  the  one  COP- 
22  VOL..  11. 


254  THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK. 

veying  itself  through  the  ears  to  the  understanding,  and 
the  other  applying  itself  only  to  the  eyes,  the  subjects 
which  are  best  suited  to  the  bard  or  tale-teller  are  often 
totally  unfit  for  painting,  where  the  artist  must  present  in 
a  single  glance  all  that  his  art  has  power  to  tell  us.  The 
artist  can  neither  recapitulate  the  past  nor  intimate  the 
future.  The  single  now  is  all  which  he  can  present  ; 
and  hence,  unquestionably,  many  subjects  which  delight 
us  in  poetry  or  in  narrative,  whether  real  or  fictitious, 
cannot  with  advantage  be  transferred  to  the  canvass. 

Being  in  some  degree  aware  of  these  difficulties,  though 
doubtless  unacquainted  both  with  their  extent,  and  the 
means  by  which  they  may  be  modified  or  surmounted,  I 
have,  nevertheless,  ventured  to  draw  up  the  following 
traditional  narrative  as  a  story  in  which,  when  the  gene- 
ral details  are  known,  the  interest  is  so  much  concentrated 
in  one  strong  moment  of  agonizing  passion,  that  it  can 
be  understood,  and  sympathized  with,  at  a  single  glance. 
1  therefore  presume  that  it  may  be  acceptable  as  a  hint 
to  some  one  among  the  numerous  artists,  who  have  of 
late  years  distinguished  themselves  as  rearing  up  and  sup- 
porting the  British  school. 

Enough  has  been  said  and  sung  about 

The  well  contested  ground, 
The  warlike  border-land — 

to  render  the  habits  of  the  tribes  who  inhabited  them  be- 
fore the  union  of  England  and  Scotland  familiar  to  most 
of  your  readers.  The  rougher  and  sterner  features  of 
their  character  were  softened  by  their  attachment  to  the 
fine  arts,  from  which  has  arisen  the  saying  that,  on  the 
frontiers,  every  dale  had  its  battle,  and  every  river  its 
song.  A  rude  species  of  chivalry  was  in  constant  use, 
and  single  combats  were  practised  as  the  amusement  of 
the  few  intervals  of  truce  which  suspended  the  exercise 
of  war.  The  inveteracy  of  this  custom  may  be  inferred 
from  the  following  incident. 

Bernard  Gilpin,  the  apostle  of  the  north,  the  first  who 


LAIKD'S  JOCK.  "255 

undertook  to  preach  the  Protestant  doctnnes  to  the  Bor- 
der dalesmen,  was  surprised,  on  entering  one  of  their 
churches,  to  see  a  gauntlet  or  mail-glove  hanging  above 
the  altar.  Upon  enquiring  the  meaning  of  a  symbol  so 
indecorous  being  displayed  in  that  sacred  place,  he  \vas 
informed  by  the  clerk  that  the  glove  was  that  of  a  famous 
swordsman,  who  hung  it  there  as  an  emblem  of  a  general 
challenge  and  gage  of  battle,  to  any  who  should  dare  to 
lake  the  fatal  token  down.  "  Reach  it  to  me,"  said  the 
reverend  churchman.  The  clerk  and  sexton  equally  de 
clined  the  perilous  office,  and  the  good  Bernard  Gilpin 
was  obliged  to  remove  the  glove  with  his  own  hands, 
desiring  those  who  were  present  to  inform  the  champion 
that  he,  and  no  other,  had  possessed  himself  of  the  gage 
of  defiance.  But  the  champion  was  as  much  ashamed  to 
face  Bernard  Gilpin  as  the  officials  of  the  church  had 
been  to  displace  his  pledge  of  combat. 

The  date  of  the  following  story  is  about  the  latter 
years  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  ;  and  the  events  took 
place  in  Liddesdale,  a  billy  and  pastoral  district  of  Rox- 
burghshire, which,  on  a  part  of  its  boundary,  is  divided 
from  England  only  by  a  small  river. 

During  the  good  old  times  of  rvgging  and  riving, 
(that  is,  tugging  and  tearing,)  under  which  term  the  dis- 
orderly doings  of  the  warlike  age  are  affectionately  re- 
membered, this  valley  was  principally  cultivated  by  the 
sept  or  clan  of  the  Armstrongs.  The  chief  of  this  war- 
like race  was  the  Laird  of  JVlangerton.  At  the  period  of 
which  I  speak,  the  estate  of  Mangerton,  with  the  power 
and  dignity  of  chief,  was  possessed  by  John  Armstrong, 
a  man  of  great  size,  strength,  and  courage.  While  his 
father  was  alive,  he  was  distinguished  from  others  of  his 
clan  who  bore  the  same  name,  by  the  epithet  of  the 
Laird's  Jock,  that  is  to  say,  the  Laird's  son  Jock,  or 
Jack.  This  name  he  distinguished  by  so  many  bold  and 
desperate  achievements,  that  he  retained  it  even  after 
his  father's  death,  and  is  mentioned  under  it  both  in  au- 
thentic records  and  in  tradition.  Some  of  his  feats  are 


'-'-"'-  TBE    LA  I  BD*5    JOCK. 


in  the  Ifinsirelsj  of  the  Scottish  Border,  and 
others  mentioned  •  luuiiiiipui  iiy  chiunkles. 

At  the  itprciri  of  angular  combat  which  we  have  de- 
scribed, the  Laird  s  Jock  was  unmalkd,  and  no  cham- 
of  Cumberland,  Westmoreland,  or  Northumberland, 
endure  the  sway  of  the  huge  two-handed  sword 
which  he  wKlded,  and  which  few  others  could  even  lot. 
TDIS  **  awful  sword,  as  the  common  people  term  it,  was 
as  dear  to  him  as  Durindana  or  Fnsfaberta  to  their  re- 
spective masters,  and  was  nearly  as  formidable  to  his 
enemies  as  those  renowned  falchions  proved  to  tbe  foes 
of  Obnstendom.  Toe  weapon  had  been  bequeathed  to 
him  by  a  celebrated  Engfish  outlaw  named  Bobbie  Xo- 

Mi .  •  lin.  •!••!.  nmmMH  il  HI li  i  il  fn  •liii  li  In   was 

m4meerSnmj*6ee,*BA*U*ig^*,~lheim*Km 
follower,  or  ratfaera  brothcf  ni  aims  to  the  renowned  Laird's 
Jock;  tffl,  venturing  into  En^and  with  a  small  escort,  a 
faithless  guide,  and  with  a  fight  single  banded  sword  in- 
stead of  his  ponderous  brand,  Bobbie  Noble,  attacked  by 


With  this  weapon,  and  by  nine*  of  his  own  strength 
and  address,  die  Laird's  Jock  masBtamed  tbe  reputation 
of  the  best  swmdauun  on  the  border  side,  and  defeated 
or  dew  many  who  trntinrd  to  dispute  wkh  him  the  for- 
midable title. 

Bbt  years  pass  on  with  the  strong  and  tbe  brave  as  wkh 
the  feeble  and  the  timid.  In  process  of  lime,  tbe  Laird's 
Jock  grew  incapable  of  wielding  bis  weapons,  and  finally 
of  aO  active  exertion,  even  of  the  most  ordinary  kind. 
The  disabled  chanspion  became  at  length  totally  bed- 
ridden, and  entirely  dependent  for  bis  comfort  on  tbe 
duties  of  an  only  danghtrr,  bis  perpetual  attendant 


Besides  this  dutiful  chad,  tbe  Laird's  Jock  had  an  only 
son,  upon  whom  devolved  the  perilous  task  of  leading 
the  dan  to  battle,  and  maaifanung  the  warlike  lenowii  of 
bis  native  country,  which  was  now  disputed  by  tbe  Eog- 

Tbe  young  Armstrong  was 


THE    LAIRD  S  JOCK.  IS)  < 

active,  Ware,  and  strong;,  and  brought  borne  iron  dan- 
gerous adventures  many  tokens  of  decided  success.  Sdu 
the  ancient  chief  conceived,  as  it  wouM  seed.  that  ;;:s 
son  was  scarce  jet  entitled  by  age  and  experience  to  he 
intrusted  with  the  two-banded  sword,  by  the  use  of  which 
be  bad  himself  been  so  dreadfully  distinguished. 

At  length,  an  English  champion,  one  of  the  name  of 
Foster,  (if  1  rightly  recollect.)  had  the  audacity  to  sead 
a  challenge  to  the  best  swordsman  in  Uddesdale  ;  and 
young  Armstrong,,  burning:  tor  chivalrous  distraction,  ac- 
cepted the  challenge. 

The  heart  of  the  disabled  old  man  swelled  with  joy, 
when  he  heard  that  the  challenge  was  passed  and  ac- 
cepted, and  the  meeting  fixed  at  a  neutral  spot,  used  as 
the  place  of  rencontre  upon  such  occasions,  and  which 
be  himself  had  distinguished  by  numerous  victories.  He 
exulted  so  much  in  the  conquest  which  he  anticipated, 
that,  to  nerve  his  son  to  still  bolder  exertions,  be  conferred 
upon  him,  as  champion  of  his  clan  and  province,  the 
celebrated  weapon  which  be  had  hitherto  retained  in  his 
own  custody. 

This  was  not  all.  When  the  day  of  combat  arrived, 
the  Laird's  Jock,  in  spite  of  his  daughter's  affectionate 
remonstrances,  determined,  though  be  had  not  left  his 
bed  for  two  years,  to  be  a  personal  witness  of  the  duel. 
His  will  was  still  a  law  to  his  people,  who  bore  him  on 
their  shoulders,  wrapt  in  plaids  and  blankets,  to  the  spot 
where  the  combat  was  to  take  place,  and  seated  him  on  a 
fragment  of  rock,  which  b  still  called  the  Laird's  Jock's 
stone.  There  be  remained  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  lists 
or  barrkr,  within  which  the  champions  were  about  to 
meet.  His  daughter,  having  done  all  she  could  far  his 
accommodation,  stood  motionless  beside  him,  divided  be- 
tween anxiety  for  hb  health,  and  for  the  .event  of  the 
combat  to  her  beloved  brother.  Ere  yet  the  fight  began, 
the  old  men  gaied  on  their  chief,  now  seen  for  the  first 
time  after  several  years,  and  sadly  compared  hb  altered 
features  ind  wasted  frame,  with  the  paragon  of  strength 


258  THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK. 

arid  manly  beauty  which  they  once  remembered.  The 
young  men  gaztd  on  his  large  form  and  powerful  make, 
as  upon  some  antediluvian  giant  who  had  survived  the 
destruction  of  the  Flood. 

But  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  on  both  sides  recalled 
the  attention  of  every  one  to  the  lists,  surrounded  as 
they  were  by  numbers  of  both  nations  eager  to  witness 
the  event  of  the  day.  The  combatants  met  in  the  lists. 
It  is  needless  to  describe  the  struggle  :  the  Scottish  cham- 
pion fell.  Foster,  placing  his  foot  on  his  antagonist, 
seized  on  the  redoubted  sword,  so  precious  in  the  eyes 
of  its  aged  owner,  and  brandished  ii  over  his  head  as  a 
trophy  of  his  conquest.  The  English  shouted  in  tri- 
umph. But  the  despairing  cry  of  the  aged  champion, 
who  saw  his  country  dishonoured,  and  his  sword,  long 
the  terror  of  their  race,  in  possession  of  an  Englishman, 
was  heard  high  above  the  acclamations  of  victory.  He 
seemed,  for  an  instant,  animated  by  all  his  wonted  power  ; 
for  he  started  from  the  rock  on  which  he  sat,  and  while 
the  garments  with  which  he  had  been  invested  fell  from 
his  wasted  frame,  and  showed  the  ruins  of  his  strength, 
he  tossed  his  arms  wildly  to  heaven,  ana  uttered  a  cry 
of  indignation,  horror,  and  despair,  which,  tradition  says, 
was  heard  to  a  preternatural  distance,  and  resembled  the 
cry  of  a  dying  lion  more  than  a  human  sound. 

His  friends  received  him  in  their  arms  as  he  sanK  ut- 
terly exhausted  by  the  effort,  and  bore  him  back  to  his 
castle  in  mute  sorrow  ;  while  his  daughter  at  once  wept 
for  her  brother,  and  endeavoured  to  mitigate  and  soothe 
the  despair  of  her  father.  But  this  was  impossible  ;  the 
old  man's  only  tie  to  life  was  rent  rudely  asunder,  and 
his  heart  had  bioken  with  it.  The  death  of  his  son  had 
no  part  in  his  sorrow  :  if  he  thought  of  him  at  all,  it  was 
as  the  degenerate  boy,  through  whom  the  honour  of  his 
country  and  clan  had  been  lost,  and  he  died  in  the  course 
of  three  days,  never  even  mentioning  his  name,  but  pour- 
ing out  unintermitted  lamentations  for  the  loss  of  his 
loble  sword. 


THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK.  259 

I  conceive,  that  the  moment  when  the  disabled  chief 
*ras  roused  into  a  last  exertion  by  the  agony  of  the  mo- 
ment is  favourable  to  the  object  of  a  painter.  He  might 
obtain  the  full  advantage  of  contrasting  the  form  >f  the 
rugged  old  man,  in  the  extremity  of  furious  despair,  with 
the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  female  form  The  fatal 
field  might  be  thrown  into  perspective,  so  as  to  give  full 
effect  to  these  two  principal  figures,  and  with  the  single 
explanation,  that  the  piece  represented  a  soldier  behold- 
ing his  son  slain,  and  the  honour  of  his  country  iost,  the 
picture  would  be  sufficiently  intelligible  at  the  first  glance. 
Il  n  \vas  thought  necessary  to  show  more  clearly  the  n«- 
ture  of  the  conflict,  it  might  be  indicated  by  the  pennon 
of  Saint  George  being  displayed  at  one  end  of  the  lisis, 
and  that  of  Saint  Andrew  at  the  other. 

I  remain,  sir, 

fcour  oDedient  servant, 

THK  ALTHOK  OK  WAVfcRLEV 


NOTES  TO 
THE   SURGEON'S   DAUGHTER. 


1.  Page  6.  [Robert  Walker,  the  colleague  and  rival  of  Dr.  Hugh  Blair 
in  St.  Giles's  Church,  Edinburgh.] 

2.  Page  30.  Strollers. 

3.  Page  32.  Or  Kite. 

4.  Page  33.  Tattling. 
6.    Page  44.  Marion. 

6.    Page  43.  Galatian  is  a  name  of  a  person  famous  in  Christmas  ga>u.x>lg 

f.     Page  63.  The  Botanic  Uaraen  a  so  termed  by  the  vulgar  of  Edin- 
burgh. 

8.    Page  88.  "  1  rr.itj  *av." 


THE    END. 


UNIV 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


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